"Lust is to the other passions what the nervous fluid is to life; it supports them all, lends strength to them all: ambition, cruelty, avarice, revenge are all founded on lust."

- Marquis de Sade

Watching his older sister die had been not as painful as he imagined the loss of a close relative would feel. Much to his astonishment the circumstances of her death had been tragically comic to witness; being killed by the one she loved seemed much too ironic to be devastating.

He remembered his lover chuckling darkly at the miserable sight of Egypt's Great Ruler, having the blood of his treacherous future queen on his hands and looking down on her corpse with utmost loathing. And although it was his beautiful sister's lifeless body that was lying there in the desert's sand and at the feet of the doomed King whose reign would soon come to an end, he could not resist laughing along with his white haired consort.

The horizon matched the color of the wrathful Pharaoh's darkened eyes that held the promise of making them pay for everything they had done.

He felt excitement course through every vein of his body, making him feel the most alive. This challenge, he could hardly wait to take on the King who had lost everything. He was hungry like a starved lion and blood-thirsty like a warrior.

Dull blue eyes flashed with predatory pugnacity. It was basic instinct that aroused him in the same kind of way his lover, the King of Thieves did, and he was avid for the coppery taste of blood, lusted for the feeling of taking the life of the man who wrongfully ruled this land and yearned for sweet revenge.

The real battle was just about to begin.

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.

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Wretchedness was the one thing he hated most in human beings. And after his spirit had been sealed inside the Millennium Rod by the young King, he realized that wretchedness was the one primal vice all men had in common.

His sister had fallen victim to her own wicked scheme and had been beaten at the cunning game she was playing, going down disgracefully and without poise, begging for forgiveness that would never be granted to her.

The Pharaoh, praised as a brave and powerful ruler, had been unable to protect those dearest to him and could only prevent the world's entire devastation by sealing away his own spirit along with the spirits of those who were allegedly responsible for the harm already done. He sacrificed himself but left behind a shattered kingdom without a sovereign to guide his people, leaving them to die from drought, famine and misery.

These two sorry individuals were nothing more to the spirit of the Millennium Rod than a traitor and a coward, a self-proclaimed queen and a king who failed his entire nation. Their misery and weakness had fueled an ineffable hatred inside of him that kept his spirit alive and as thirsty for vengeance as the day he fought the Pharaoh.

And inside the darkness he rested, embraced by the shadows, which in his slumber told him about the return of the Coward King. They whispered to him the tale of Shesmu the God of Execution, Punisher of the Unrighteous and Slaughterer of the Damned who would drink the blood of the Usurper King like red wine.

Every so often, the shadows presaged the birth of a boy with golden hair and dull blue eyes, who resembled the spirit's long decayed body in appearance and who one day would bear a grudge against a nameless King whose secret he was chosen to protect.

He liked the soft whispers of the shadows and kept listening until the day a baby boy was born into the family of tomb keepers, who were just another bunch of wretched human beings, living beneath the earth like rats in the sewers. On that fateful day he was finally woken from his slumber, ready to observe the prophesized boy until the day he finally inherited the Millennium Rod.

Alertly, he watched the boy – Malik – grow up through the current owner's eyes, paying attention to a small but visible spark of loathing for the Nameless Pharaoh, which had already ignited at this young age. His father, a despicable man obsessed with a self-imposed duty, only contributed to Malik's hatred by forcing the tomb keeper's doctrine on his young son.

He could feel his power grow every time he witnessed the slow but steady destruction of that poor boy's innocence but when the secret of the Nameless Pharaoh was carved into his back during a ludicrous ritual, Malik's hatred grew so strong, the spirit was able to finally make his existence known to the abused boy without connecting through the millennium item.

Introducing himself as Shesmu the god-demon and Lord of Blood, he promised the boy the freedom he desired so much if he only let him in and allow him to provide him with guidance. Young, helpless and naïve, Malik gave in to the spirit's compelling promises of a fulfilling life underneath the blue sky and yellow sun as the Chosen King, who would forever do away with the Coward King and finally yielded to temptation.

Reborn from the pain and suffering of a ten-year old, the spirit murdered Malik's father, freeing the boy from his imposed duty but seized possession of his body and – unbeknown to the child – forced his own ideology upon him.

The sight of crimson liquid splattered against the stone wall, the lifeless body of his reincarnation's father and the boy's sibling's appalled faces brought back the fundamental lust for bloodshed. Having control of Malik's young body, he felt a heart beating and a pulse throbbing; the sweet sensation of being alive enthralled him and he could not help but tasting the blood sticking to the dainty hands he was able to control.

Possessing a body which looked much like the one he once owned himself and being able to exist in the world of the living, he could not wait to face the Nameless Pharaoh with whom he still had a score to settle. This ancient battle was not over, yet and had never been decided in the first place.

But despite having made it this far, it seemed the spirit's time had not come, yet. Another pathetic human being called Rishid – brother of his host – seemed to put obstacles in the spirit's way by being able to suppress his dark influence on Malik and shed light on the darkness inside him on which the boy's cruel alter ego feasted.

But the spirit was patient. Rishid was not much more than a mild nuisance that one day would resolve itself. Instead of controlling Malik, he guided him from within, giving incentives and planting ideas into the young boys mind he mistakenly considered his own.

He was confident his time would soon come. The Coward King had not even been reborn into this world, yet; probably still floating in darkness and trapped inside his own millennium item. There was no need to rush things, so the spirit waited inside the darkness, snuggling up against the shadows that kept him company for so long, fantasizing about the Pharaoh's downfall and the reunion with his long lost lover.