Disclaimer:
The Dark Mystic Muse deadpans, "I obviously do own neither Yugioh, nor any of its characters. If I did, several characters in the story would meet tragic ends and Malik and Bakura would rule the world. However, I do own this story, and Nefert/Nefer-Hotep, since I created them."
Note:
Ancient Egyptian dictionary at the bottom of the page; tell me if you want it translated as you go for the next time, or if you want the dictionary to be at the top, etcetera. Any reviews would be appreciated!
The Demoness
Has Purple Eyes
The Tomb, the Tomb Robber, and the Amulet
Buried within the heart of the desert's ancient tomb, a mausoleum was hidden beneath the rivers of sand, long forgotten by history and its guardians. A trickle of glistening crimson beads slowly teemed down the sealed doors; chunky rocks nestled against the sunken walls. Inside the sandstone palace, endless rooms had been chiseled. If the sun could rest its golden eye upon the monument, a glittering shower would have shimmered against the jewel-sheathed walls and coated the primeval remains of fruit offerings in light.
Cinnamon-colored dust sprinkled itself upon the lashes of silent statues, tousling peacock feathers and caking linen sheets. In the far end of the halls the rooms led to a single courtyard. The chambers were breathless, yet two enchanted flames burned from ceramic cups soaring from beside an open casket leaning against untouched painted walls.
An astonishingly beautiful figure of a woman was dappled in a cloak of shadows, her slender form resting against the draping darkness. The aroma of Egyptian myrrh laced through the air, and in a blink of an eye, the embers vanished.
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"You don't have to do this, Bakura," Ryou's soft voice pleaded for a last, final time. His innocent chocolate eyes blinked gloomily at the dusty Egyptian scroll clasped within his delicate hands, inky hieroglyphs brushed against the papyrus paper. "How will you live without me?"
"What are you," the tomb robber glared through his host's eyes, "a female? Are you getting emotional on me again? I've ransacked your little mind already – I know how to use your pathetic modern devices." He felt the snowy-haired British boy squirm uncomfortably, biting his lip as he always did when he was holding back a protest.
Bakura noticed, and he drawled lazily, "Yes, I did look through your mind again. Get over it."
"You said you wouldn't!" the boy cried indignantly.
"Think about it this way: after this, it will be the last time I ever do."
"I'd hate to interrupt," Malik's annoyed voice called before them, "but I have you know that my sister will not sing for joywhen she finds out her newest addition to the Egyptian exhibit has gone missing." His violet eyes glanced at the dusty scroll. "And be careful with that!"
The ancient thief rolled his dark eyes. "Just give me the amulet, Malik," he held out a pale hand expectantly. "You replaced it with a replica, didn't you?"
The blonde Egyptian stared at him as if he was eyeballing an asylum escapee. "My sister," he began slowly, as if talking to a two-year old, "is one of the most renowned museum curators in the world. She is not going to miss the fact that her priceless turquoise amulet has been replaced with a shoddy, misshapen lump of clay!"
Bakura shrugged in response.
"You are infuriating and blind."
"And you are starting to sound like Ryou," the tomb robber retorted, ignoring Ryou's insulted gripe at the comment. He rubbed his chilled shoulders, his eyes sweeping across the emerald park, lit with silvery moonlight. The full moon's quivering beams poured through the ivy-green foliage wreathing the swaying trees; a pool of light illuminated the array of strange powders arranged in bags on the whispering grass blades.
"Bakura…" Ryou's angelic whisper called his name once again, trailing off into the pillaging wind. It completely exasperated the spirit with how timid and innocent it sounded, full of misery.
Bakura felt a spike of annoyance prickle him; he snapped, "For the last time, host, I can't have your frail little body if I'm going to work! You are just a hindrance." He felt Ryou's sadness, but he pretended to ignore it. He didn't understand why the boy was complaining, or why he had said he would miss him. It wasn't as if he had been particularly nice. Nor did he understand the tiny sliver of something similar to regret panging within him, a feeling he was determined to hide from his light.
Malik dropped the amulet's twining shape into Bakura's open hand, and the tomb robber hung it around his neck. "Now, we have to read this together," he informed Malik and Ryou. He narrowed his hikari's eyes. "And you better read it properly," he threatened unnecessarily out of habit, and Ryou nodded mournfully. The two Egyptians and one reluctant British boy mumbled the chant, Bakura having forced his host to memorize the writing before hand.
Suddenly Ryou stumbled. "Akh em khem – et!" The mispronunciation shot like a spear into the two Egyptian's ears, and the three halted.
"You stopped!"
"It's a tongue twister! I couldn't help it!" At the simmering anger burning through their mental link, Ryou promised, "I won't do it again, not next time, Bakura! I promise." His yami growled. "It was only a practice round," the light squeaked.
"What will happen, by the way, if this happens during the actual spell?" Bakura questioned like vinegar.
Malik answered dryly, "I'm not sure, but at worst the spell will have the opposite effect. Instead of 'separating the souls'," he quoted, glancing down at the script, "it will probably add another soul to your…party."
"A random soul?" Ryou piped, fingering the Millennium Ring nervously, knowing what happened the last time he met the met a spirit who had to inhabit his body.
"I don't know; possibly."
Bakura waved it off absently. "If that happens, we'll just repeat the spell until we get it right."
The bronze Egyptian glared, realizing that the thief hadn't been paying any attention at all to the long and boring speech he had made over half an hour ago. "This," he jabbed a finger at the amulet, "is a one time spell! All amulet spells are! If we mess this one up, you'll be boarding with another spirit –permanently!"
"Yes, yes, let's just get on with it," Bakura rolled russet eyes. His fingers wrapped around the amulet, a gentle pulse beating through his fingertips. Magic trilled through the air; the faint scent of myrrh pirouetted through the night sky. "Netjer kwk, ii tjew…"
The chant continued, it's sharp, flinty words piercing the heavens like crystal shards. Gleaming hieroglyphs ringed the air, circling the thief's arms, climbing his ankles. The words resonated; pearly droplets of magic stippled his skin.
The power of the ancient language began to take affect, when all of a sudden, someone yelped, and the spell splintered into a thousand pieces.
"No!" Bakura howled - the spell turned violent. The haunting runes scorched a fierce crimson, scarring the air with a brutal screech. A shudder rippled through the amulet and the frail twisting figure crumbled into grains of sand, falling into the shrieking zephyrs. "Rewi i!" The tomb robber frantically bellowed the final words, but it was too late.
A blinding orb of light sparked before him and he was blown backward, slamming violently into the arms of an unforgiving tree.
The tomb robber and the tomb keeper stared up into the suddenly deathly silent night, breathing heavily, blood-red flames hissing against the ground like agonized snakes.
"Oh gods…" Malik groaned, prying himself from the floor and stumbling to his feet. A tanned hand groped for the charred and tattered remains of the papyrus scroll, its words now mutilated by the failed spell. "Iwt sa!" Swearing venomously, he slammed the patch of writing to the ground, trying desperately to stomp out the flames lapping at the corners.
The spell's corpse withered and died. Bakura scrambled to his feet and lunged at the ground up flicks of paper, horrified. "No! How could this happen? Who messed this up?" His dark eyes leapt up to Malik's violet ones, accusing.
The Egyptian scowled; silver moonlight spilled onto the Millennium Rod holder's halo of golden hair. "It wasn't me! It was you! I heard you mess it up!"
"That's impossible!"
"Ha, and Ra be damned and Set is an angel! It was you Bakura, I heard it loud and clear. Blame your own incompetence-"
"Why you-!"
"Stop!" Ryou wailed, sitting both he and Bakura gracelessly on the ground. "There's something wrong…"
Bakura snapped, "By Ra there's something wrong! The spell failed!" Malik rolled his eyes to make a retort but Ryou cut in.
"No, it's not-"
"Silence, hikari!" He resumed insulting his accomplice. "Malik you better admit that it was you who messed this spell up or-"
"Or what?" Malik taunted, grinning nastily. "Hit me with your former scroll?" He laughed, pinching the pathetic and desecrated flakes of paper, and Bakura's eyes narrowed. "Poor thief!" Every syllable was dripping with sarcasm. "Remi ib i en tjew"
"It is you," he growled, "who will have to explain this to Ishezu." Malik paled visibly. Smirking at his, he added smugly, "You said yourself the ceramic fake wouldn't last. How will you explain the missing artifact?"
"Unlike you, thief," Malik sniped cruelly, "I don't need to worry about that. I have everything planned flawlessly." Of course, everyone was very aware of the fact that this was possibly the worst and most far-fetched lie the Rod bearer had ever told to anyone in his entire span of existence.
The poor little British boy that had the misfortune of sharing a body with a 3000 year old tomb robber sighed in his soul room, rummaging through the trinkets scattered across his sanctuary.
The room was quiet and sweet; hidden treasures were tucked in its corners and dangled temptingly from tree branches. But shadowing everything in the soul room was a gloomy cloud, crying sadness and reminding him of his own gaping wounds. As he hugged a pillow and curled up on the feathered bed, he thought he heard footsteps from outside.
Ryou sat up and frowned, watching his closed door. Was Bakura wandering in the corridor? He usually never did. Perhaps the argument's over, he thought glumly, eager to trudge up to his apartment and sleep. He had school tomorrow.
Sighing, the pale boy stepped up to the door and tugged open the handle, the fluffy pillow still tucked under an arm. "Bakura?" He whispered quietly, hoping the restless spirit wouldn't be in a wretched mood. No one answered.
Hesitantly, he took a step out, the ghostly white mist marauding the cracked floors of the corridor coiling around his bare ankles. Ryou shivered but plunged forward, his wide eyes darting around the darkness. "Bakura?" He hated how his voice had suddenly faded and deserted him. Something was different - wrong. As the icy floor nipped at his toes, Ryou's chocolate eyes searched for the something that was so out of place.
He peered down the snaking hall, searching for the thief or one of his magical monsters, which he used to scare his hikari when he was in a wretched mood. An oddity snagged his eyes, and he gasped.
"Bakura!"
He tore into the door of the thief's soul room with his fists, banging loudly, not caring who or what heard any more.
"-so why don't you go back and just…" in the middle of giving Malik a clearly rude suggestion, the tomb robber trailed off, Ryou's utterly petrified, shrill shout immediately forcing him back into his soul room. Glaring and cursing the day, the spirit ripped the door open lividly and demanded, "What!' of his terrified hikari. Ryou only pointed.
At the end of the hall between their rooms was another door. "Oh netjeru…" Bakura groaned. Another spirit had just moved in.
Dictionary:
"Netjer kwk, ii tjew …" – "Dark god, come…"
Rewi i – I leave
Iwt sa – S.O.B
Remi ib i en tjew – My heart weeps for you
Netjeru – Gods
Note: Bad grammar!