Birth of a King
Summary: "You destroyed my village and took me away from my family! I can never be whole again, and for that, I will never forgive you." His fate sealed from the start, his life was nothing more than an endless sea of rage and revenge... or was it?
Rated: T
Genre: Angst/Hurt/Comfort
Paradocs: Believe it or not, I'm working on building a PLAYLIST to go with this story. Yeah. Weird, huh? But, it'll be done by the time this story's over. I swear. =3
And for the record: Shentis are those nifty kilt-thingies they wore in Egypt. Don't get confused, y'all.
Disclaimer: I still don't own Bakura, or anything vaguely resembling this series. But someday... Someday.
Massacre
There was blood, lots of it, the scarlet liquid spreading brilliantly across the sand before the desert absorbed it, like some sick, twisted sacrifice to the gods of the underworld. Bodies lay where they'd fallen, women and children mingled with the men. Some corpses were in better condition than others, hardly mutilated; other bodies lay there, dying still as they fought against the urge to allow their ka to go to be judged by Osiris just yet. Screams and howls of those who had yet to join their fellows mingled with the awful sounds of metal blades clashing against stone or, rarer, on metal; the most common sound was the soft, fatal sound of the blades cutting into flesh. Laughter, harsh and foreign, rang loudest of all. The laughter grew louder as the figures approached, visible only as shadows against the flames that consumed each building. Bakura watched as one smiled, teeth white against the red and black around them, advanced on him, drawing his bloody sword and, with another laugh, threw it straight at his--
Bakura sat bolt upright in the sand, breathing heavily and drenched in cold sweat. Blue-grey eyes wide in fear, he looked around at his surroundings. It was dark, but not completely; Nuit's star-spangled body and the moon-disk of Thoth's headdress were clearly visible. For a moment, the nine-year-old boy let himself be lost in the sight, letting the lights chase away his nightmare.
It had to be a nightmare, after all. No one but the villagers knew where Kul Elna was, and the villagers were sworn to secrecy. Besides, why would they give away the location of their home? All the villagers were, in one way or another, outcasts from Egyptian society. Amisi for eloping with his father; Odji and the gang for past crimes; himself and Amenitre, for their very existence.
No. Nobody would've revealed Kul Elna's location. They were as good as dead if they were caught. Bakura was sure of it.
Then... if it hadn't been Kul Elna in his dream...
Well, where could it have been? Bakura had never been anywhere outside of the village, other than the desert, and then only on the rarest occasions, this one included. No, it was just a nightmare. A scary dream, nothing more. He should've remembered to wear the charm he'd gotten that dealt with these things. That would've been a good ide--
"Eurgh..." Bakura felt a raw pain gnaw at his stomach, and he clutched at it, mind wheeling to the next topic. He hadn't eaten all day, having run out in a temper before he could have breakfast, let alone steal some food from the stores. A second pain hit him, this time twisting in his heart. How could he have said those things to his father? And then, running off like he had? Bakura couldn't remember ever doing anything like that, even in his youngest, most childish tantrums. The scene replayed in his mind, unbidden, the words haunting him.
"Everyone here knows I'm plenty good enough to go raiding with you and the gang! Everyone but you!"
"Next raid, next raid, it's always next raid with you! I'm better than anyone else in this village with my knife! How am I not ready to go with you?!"
"I hate you!"
Fists clenched tight in sudden anger, Bakura gradually loosened his grip on the nothingness. He had to go back. He wouldn't last long in the desert, and besides, Nebibi was his father, as well as his leader. He couldn't say those things without some punishment, but right now, Bakura was willing to do anything, just so he wouldn't be alone in the dark. Getting to his feet, he winced. His mad dash into the sands hadn't been without consequence: his muscles were sore and stiff, and it hurt to stand, let alone move around. Bakura smirked despite the pain. He was thief from Kul Elna, wasn't he? This pain was nothing to a seasoned member of Nebibi's gang; why should it be any more than a slight annoyance to him now? He was going to lead them someday, after all.
Feeling a little more confident, the child began his solitary trek back towards home, guided by the lights that illuminated the faint mass in the distance.
Bakura was a little way off when he sensed that something was wrong.
This far from the village, he should've been able to hear the horses whinnying in the stables, the chatter of people and the clatter of dishes and bounty as gold was distributed and the evening meal devoured, any sound that a small village could possibly make.
He heard nothing at all, save a slight clatter and some voices. It wasn't normal, even for Kul Elna, this strange silence.
The boy walked a little faster, fear beginning to rise in his chest.
Closer now, Bakura smelt fire, heard the clatter as metal against metal, stone, and flesh. The voices were either raucous or fearful, screams punctuating the air every so often.
The fear in Bakura's chest turned to panic. The boy broke into a run until he reached the very fringe of the village, just behind his house.
What he saw froze his feet to the sand.
Men, tall and well-muscled, wearing once-white shentis and cloth headdresses, fought against villagers, better equipped than anyone in Kul Elna could have ever dreamed. It was hardly a fight, though, the strangers cutting down women and children along with the menfolk. With a sense of horror, Bakura watched his nightmare come to life.
"Bakura!" A wail woke him from his shock, along with a frantic grip on his shoulder. He spun around, finding himself face-to-face with the fear-struck, bloody face of his mother.
"Bakura!" She hugged him tight to her, almost as if she didn't want to let him go. After a moment, she held him out at arm's length. "Have you seen your sister?"
Bakura shook his head, too frightened to speak. He hadn't been home all day; how could he know where Amenitre was? Amisi's eyes widened, twin pools of blue in a barely-tanned face. She pulled him along after her, thrusting him inside their house.
"Stay here," she said, urgency in every line of her body, as she turned away to go. Bakura shook his head, making to follow her, only to be shoved back into one of the shadowy corners. "No," she hissed, suddenly angry. "I won't lose you. I won't lose any of you. Don't get caught, Bakura. Be strong, and wait." Without waiting for a reply, she ran out, back into the bloody melee that raged in the sand-paved streets. Bakura watched her go, watching from near the doorway. The streets were red and black and wet; the smell of death and smoke was everywhere. The roofs of the buildings, thatched with palms, straw, and whatever else they could gather, danced and burned in the flames.
But Bakura was not interested in that. Not anymore.
"Bakura!" He heard a voice scream. His mother. A twin scream echoed it, younger, but perfectly recognizable to him.
No. No, dear Set and Ra and Osiris, no. Bakura nearly ran out of the house, but something stopped him, kept him rooted in place as he watched the bloody scene before him.
Soldiers laughed as they pushed Amisi to the ground, still screaming and clutching something to her, crimson liquid flowing all over herself and the ground and staining everything a horrible color. It was a body.
Amenitre's body.
Bakura couldn't remember when the screams stopped, when the soldiers left Amisi on the ground in a bloody heap. It was as if the whole world had become a blur, a swiftly-spinning mess of red and brown, blood and tears, screams and laughter. But as he stood there, frozen in spot by fear and shock, the images burned themselves into his mind like a brand.
He would never forget. Could never forget. He'd seen the faces of his home die like dogs, and had watched as one man, the only man not dripping blood, roared encouragement to the soldiers.
"For the Pharaoh, and Egypt!" He'd shouted.
Alone now in the dead village of Kul Elna, Bakura found himself turning around, running, back into the desert, into oblivion and freedom and the feeling of being alone.
He was alive, but he felt more dead than the corpses that littered the ground.
Paradocs: I considered making it a lot more graphic than this... but I was worried about scarring someone for life. XP More to come later!