Chapter 1
Bakura woke to the sound of Saturday night quiz call. He growled irritably at the annoyingly preppy bint on screen, wearing far too much make-up and way too little clothing.
He switched the TV off, throwing the remote across the room and lay down to go back to sleep.
The doorbell rang.
"Godamnit! What do you have to do to get some sleep around here!"
He stalked to the heavy wooden door and wrenched it open effortlessly, to find himself glaring at a boy of about Malik's age.
Bakura just stared, eyes wide, at the shivering boy.
"Bakura, who- Ryou!" Malik flew past, gently pushing Bakura aside and pulled the freezing boy into the house.
Bakura just stood there, momentarily frozen by the shock of staring back at his own face. Well, almost.
He closed the heavy wooden door and turned.
The boy was now sat on the sofa on which Bakura had been trying to sleep prior to his arrival. As Bakura studied him, he noticed subtle differences between them. The boy's pale hair was soft and fluffy, spiking gently. His bangs falling forward to shield his eyes from view. His eyes were, unlike Bakura's, wide and innocent, pools of melted chocolate. Bakura's own eyes were sharper, pointed, tainted by the faint echo of what could only be called malice. They also hid a deep pain, etched into his being.
But Bakura would never let that show. He had a strong dislike for weakness.
"Bakura?" Said male turned to find Malik looking at him. "Can you make Ryou some hot cocoa?"
Bakura stared for a moment; Malik was certain he would refuse outright. However, Bakura nodded and proceeded into the kitchen. Malik followed shortly after, arriving in preparation to take Ryou the cocoa.
The teen gasped as he felt Bakura's hand roughly grasp his shoulder and shove him roughly into the fridge.
"Why does he look like me?" Bakura growled so lowly that the words were almost lost in favour of a guttural roar.
The Egyptian was startled. "I don't know Bakura."
However startled, Malik never showed fear towards Bakura. "But he's not the only one."
Bakura's grip tightened. "What?" He was beginning to hiss now. "Are you telling me that there are more people who look like me?"
Malik nervously met his gaze. 'Crap! Well, he had to find out sooner or later.'
"No, not like you."
Bakura's expression remained blank.
Malik sighed. "Perhaps I should just show you."
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Ryou was still sat rigidly on the sofa, hands clutching an untouched mug of cocoa. Bakura now sat next to him, watching the boy out of the corner of his eye. However, most of his attention was drawn to Malik, who was on the phone.
"I know it's late, I'm sorry but it's important. Please, I need you to come over. Okay thanks."
Malik closed the phone and sighed gently.
"So who is this mystery person Malik?" Bakura's tone was mocking.
"You'll find out in about 5 minutes."
The next five minutes were silent. Malik sat on the chair furthest from Bakura, his gaze averted, trying not to look at his roommate.
Bakura lounged comfortably on the sofa. Or as comfortably as one can when sitting next to their clone.
Ryou sat in the same position he had all evening.
The silence was broken by the doorbell ringing.
Malik launched himself from his seat and stood before the front door, blocking Bakura, who had risen to answer it.
When he arched an inquisitive eyebrow, Malik smiled nervously. "Well, I suppose it's time to reveal my secret, huh?"
He turned and opened the door, revealing something Bakura never expected to see.
It was Malik's clone.
The tanned skin was the same shade of caramel; the blond hair was the only thing that easily distinguished them. Malik's was volumous and bouncy but this stranger's was down right gravity defying! The blond bangs hovered either side of his face and the rest spiked up in chaotic organisation. The violet eyes were the same shade, although there was something in the stranger's.
A glimmer of danger?
Bakura gaped at him, then at Malik and then Ryou, before his eyes finally flicked back to rest on the stranger once again.
"I know I should have told you before." Malik spoke softly. "This is Marik."
Bakura turned his head to the smaller teen, staring incredulously. "What the fuck Malik! You've been running around with some fucking clone of yourself and you don't even tell me that there's some brat running around that looks like me?"
"Bakura calm down! Please! It was complicated."
Bakura hit him.
Malik froze, his face turned to the left. The angry red mark on his cheek proved the force of Bakura's strike. Marik stepped from his side, shielding him from Bakura.
Said male was also frozen, eyes wide and mouth agape. He couldn't bring himself to believe that he had just hit his best friend. Malik had been like a younger brother to him. The brother he had never known in Egypt.
He blinked.
Malik turned his face towards Bakura, eyes dull with defeat.
Bakura stepped back. "No… that look… not that…"
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Flashback
Bakura opened his eyes to smoke and heat. He scrambled to his feet in a hurry to escape the choking smoke that stung his eyes and burned his throat.
Fire.
Kuru Eruna was on fire.
His home was burning to the ground while he could only stand there. Helpless.
He turned on his heels, weaving through the maze of streets and small, crumbling houses.
He was about to round the corner that would take him home when he heard them.
Heard the screams.
Loud, piercing screams of agony. Slicing through the heavy air.
He slowed, heart hammering in his chest. He crouched low as he peered around the corner. He unwittingly released his stance and fell to his knees.
His family were lined up along the wall, restrained by the pharaoh's soldiers.
His mother gripped tightly to the shoulders of his brother, tears flooding down her face. Her body shaking with the force of her sobs.
His father was pleading with the soldiers, begging them to take him and spare his wife and son.
One soldier laughed. A dark, hollow sound. He stepped toward the begging man; his grin was that of a wolf as he kicked the walking stick from his hands, laughing louder as the injured man fell to the ground, winded by the impact.
One man came forward with what looked like a set of solid gold scales. He paused for a moment looking at Bakura's family with an inquisitive expression on his face.
Finally, he turned to the soldier nearest and whispered something in his ear before turning and walking from the scene, cloak whipping violently in the wind.
The soldier crouched by the man on the ground, leering madly.
Bakura winced as the soldier grabbed his father by the throat and stood, lifting him clear from the ground.
He didn't see what happened. It all happened too fast. He turned to his mother when her scream filled the square. She was staring, still screaming loudly, at the soldier and Bakura's father.
He looked back at his father, his eyes having wandered to his mother and brother for a moment, his mouth opened in a scream that he had to block with his hand.
His father was laid out on the ground, blood pooling in a wide arc around his prone form. Bakura forced himself to look away from the bloodied corpse, finding his eyes glued to those of his father.
He stared at the ground in front of his knees, his father's eyes pleading for him to run.
He turned back to his mother, eyes still wide in horror and hand still covering his mouth in fear that he would scream... or vomit.
He was frozen in horror as soldiers advanced on the small woman. She had stopped screaming but clutched the shoulders of her son even more tightly, forcing him to stay behind her.
The nearest soldier grabbed Baranh, tugging him viciously from his mother's grip, her nails leaving deep, red welts in Baranh's golden-brown skin.
"NO! BARANH! LEAVE HIM ALONE! LEAVE HI-"
Her screams and protests were cut off by the strike across her face. Baranh stood in forced silence, the soldier's hands restraining him from moving or shouting. He struggled but fell still when his mother was struck.
The tears fell heavily down his cheeks when the soldier reached to his waist, pulling the heavy, bronze sword, shaped like the sickle used often in farming, from his belt. The metal glinted malevolently in the sun as the soldier raised it. Bakura's mother fell silent closing her eyes, though that did little to slow the flow of tears, and crossing her arms across her chest. Bakura recognized his mother's desperate method of prayer; she had used it often when they sheltered from the wild sand storms that constantly tore through the country.
Baranh began to struggle again, the hand muffling his furious shouts and desperate pleas. The scream however was clear, despite the heavy hand clamped upon his jaw.
The soldier stabbed his mother once, through the stomach and caught her as she slumped forward. It was a merciful murder, though that did nothing to cool Bakura's fury, his shock the only thing preventing him from racing to the soldier and hacking him to pieces with his own sword, the soldiers rarely killed women and they certainly did not enjoy it when they had to do so.
The soldier holding her gently laid her on the ground, closing her eyes with his fingertips.
Then he turned on Baranh, whose eyes narrowed dangerously.
Bakura watched in amazement as his brother began his escape. Baranh stamped, hard, on the foot of his captor, thrusting his hand to his waist and grabbing his sword. He spun quickly, forcing the blade deep into the soldier's chest.
He gave a satisfied smirk as he pulled it from the slackening body and turned to the soldier that had killed both his mother and father. His eyes narrowed again and the smirk disappeared. He was blinded by fury as he flew towards the soldier.
It happened even faster than with his father.
One moment, Baranh was charging towards the stunned soldier, the blood-drenched sword held high.
The next, he was pinned against the wall, the sickle shaped sword buried deep in his abdomen. The soldier holding the sickle leered psychotically at his last victim.
A choking sob tore from Bakura's throat, somehow passing the hand that attempted to muffle its sound.
The soldiers either didn't hear it or they thought that the sound had been made by Baranh.
Baranh, however, looked up sharply at the sound, his eyes meeting Bakura's.
The smaller boy flinched away from the look in his brother's eyes.
They were dull, defeated.
Baranh had accepted that he was going to die.
In front of his baby brother.
The sword tore its way up through Baranh's chest. The bones did little to slow the blade; a stomach-turning crunch was heard as each rib shattered. The blood poured rapidly down the blade and the arm of the soldier, occasionally falling to the ground with a sickeningly loud 'drip'.
Bakura spun. His head felt heavy. The air he breathed was fetid and his vision swam. He retched emptily, the air burning his throat.
Worst of all, was the image of his brother, resigned and defeated, staring at him every time he closed his eyes.
His senses ran rampant. Every smell scorched his nostrils. Every sight burned itself into his after vision. Every sound pounded violently against his ear drums.
He could hear every ragged breath his brother took until, finally, across the square, Baranh fell silent.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~* End Flashback
Bakura's eyes opened a second time to find himself back in the living room of the apartment he and Malik shared.
He realised he was kneeling, his head clutched in his hands. Malik was stood with one arm reaching toward him, Marik holding him back gently; worried Bakura could lash out again.
"B-Bakura?" Malik's voice was shaky and edged with worry.
Bakura stood quickly, dusting his jeans. "I'm going to bed." His tone was colder than he would have liked but that was better than allowing the tremor to go noticed.
He quickly climbed the stairs, leaving a bewildered Marik, a worried Malik and an almost catatonic Ryou in the living room.