Now, the moment we have been waiting for… a little backstory. Or a lot. A LOT.

Chapter Twelve: From the Pinnacle to the Pit

His mind turned over and over, delirious from the stunning truth and exhaustion. His injuries and blood loss still plagued him, even if he had apparently drank from Yami in his wounded state. He stared with heavy eyelids as Yami finished cleaning him up.

"You're… the first…" he echoed for what seemed like the millionth time.

"Yes," Yami replied. He leaned forward, slipped an arm under Seto's shoulders and his knees. Without a single strain, he lifted Seto from the bathtub.

Seto snorted. It was probably a ridiculous sight; a tiny man like Yami carrying a much taller man like himself. Seto let his head loll against Yami's firm, cold bicep. "How did it even happen?" He shivered when Yami's fingers caressed his bare shoulder with such minute motions he was unsure if it was even happening.

"I shall explain when you have recovered. You need your rest," Yami replied quietly, and he walked steadily into his bedroom. He laid Seto on his bed. "You will rest here. After I clean up, I will join you. You may take from me as much as you need while you heal. It will help you recuperate."

Seto could feel himself blush. "Okay." He blinked heavily, wearily watched as Yami dug clean clothes out of dressers and drawers. He laid a pair of linen pants across Seto's legs.

"Change into these if you think you have the energy. I will aid you if you feel you do not." He walked back into the bathroom, closed the door behind him.

Seto gripped the soft linen between slender fingers. Rock and incense wafted up to his nose. Yami's pants. They were the kind he wore when he prayed.

Everything ached as he shimmied his pants down his thighs. His breath hissed between his teeth, and he groaned as he sat up to pull them the rest of the way off. He huffed, breathless, head pounding, and half-heartedly folded the bloodied, dusty pants to drape them on the headboard. The other pair was slipped on with painstaking care.

Waistband pulled up sufficiently, Seto collapsed back against the blankets. He panted, pressed a hand to his forehead. He gritted his teeth. Water rushed through the pipes. Yami was taking a shower. The sound lapped at Seto's senses, lulled his eyes shut.

He'd never felt so exhausted before.

He sluggishly supposed that it was only to be expected after being so thoroughly tortured.

He drifted into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Seto was asleep when Yami left the bathroom. He smiled at the dirtied pants draped over the footboard, picked them up and set them aside with his own ruined clothing.

The mattress creaked quietly under his additional weight, and he settled himself against the blankets. Seto shifted, groaned softly. He was trembling.

Yami inched closer, guided Seto's head to the hollow of his throat. Cold breaths fanned his neck, and he shivered. A chilly nose nuzzled him. Fangs. A slick tongue. The topical anesthetic of Seto's saliva numbed his skin and made it tingle. The silky brown hair he tenderly stroked tangled in his fingers, and his purple eyes slid closed when fangs slipped into his flesh.

Yami swallowed his gasp, but he couldn't stop his spine from arching weakly.

The gentle drain ended soon after, and Seto wearily nuzzled into Yami's throat. He sighed, cold breath fogging against Yami's pale flesh.

"My sweet fledgling," Yami murmured in his native tongue, petting Seto's bare back, "so gentle you feed." He laid his cheek against Seto's temple. "Even when you hiss and spit, your fangs are tender." Even when his jaws tightened with hunger, his teeth were careful. What a contradictive man.

Seto's arm sluggishly draped across Yami's slender waist. Yami smiled faintly into Seto's hair.

Washing in and out of consciousness, like a restless night's sleep. Perhaps that's what it was. The details were hazy.

A lithe body against his own. The rich copper of ancient blood. Comforting words spoken in deep tones.

He blinked hazily. His eyelashes brushed cool, pale flesh. Long, thin fingers stroked along his spine, rubbed the skin into pleasant, tingling numbness. Breaths puffed against his crown.

"Yami," he murmured, and his lips skimmed flesh with each movement.

"Seto," came the quiet response, hand stilling for a moment before it continued with its slow petting. "How are you feeling?"

A sigh, and he felt his breath blow back against his cheeks in the close of Yami's throat. "Stiff, but better."

Yami's cheek shifted, and Seto could feel Yami's jaw vibrating with his voice. "Do you need to feed again?"

Seto pressed his nose closer. Yami smelled like water and soap and skin. So tempting… "I'm fine now."

Yami hummed. It resonated in his chest. He began to draw away.

Seto's hand tightened on Yami's hip. "Wait…"

A breath.

Seto's face flushed cold, and he squeezed his eyes shut.

Yami settled back into the blankets. His fingertip traced along the subtle bumps of Seto's spine.

Seto blinked hard. Jesus Christ, what the hell was he doing? Cuddling with the first vampire ever.

Jesus, cuddling in general, after what had happened.

"Why did you storm off?" Seto asked quietly.

Yami's finger stilled. "... We should probably start this from the beginning."

Seto's brows furrowed. "What? For even that?"

"Yes," came the quiet reply. "You must know what I have done."

Seto was the one who drew away this time. Blue eyes blinked up at that solemn face.

Only I can atone for my sins…

Yami stared back, unblinking. He completely withdrew from Seto, propped himself up on his elbow. "Do you need help sitting up?"

"No." Seto managed it on his own. The soreness was all but gone. He leaned back against the headboard.

Yami stood, smooth the wrinkles from his shirt. It might have been Seto's sleepy eyesight, but he thought he saw a subtle tremble in those long fingers.

Seto looked away, cleared his throat. "They called you 'The Pharaoh.'"

A hum. "I don't imagine why. I haven't been a king in many long years. Not since I inadvertently became King of England." He frowned thoughtfully. "Though that's a story for another time." A tap of a finger on his hip. "Do you need help standing?"

Seto rolled his eyes and easily swung his long legs over the mattress, though he planted his feet with utmost caution. He glanced up and met the watchful violet eyes that surveilled his every movement. "But you were king of Egypt at some point?"

"Yes," he replied, low, whisper-like. "Approximately forty-five centuries ago."

"Give or take a few decades," Seto mumbled, remembering their first visit back to the Kaiba manor.

Yami chuckled, traces of humor crackling through the gravity like hairline fractures on solid granite. "Yes." He walked to the door. "I was a boy king. My father died when I was but thirteen."

Seto followed. "Where are we going?"

"My temple. Thank you for cleaning it." The smell of incense was still heavy on the air. Seto took a deep breath and wondered if the scent would ever not remind him of the man before him.

"Hn. You made quite the mess," Seto mumbled.

Silence, Yami's thoughts as mysterious as ever. They crossed the threshold. A snap of the fingers and the candles within burned bright.

Seto blinked, watched slender, pale fingers reorient the sparse furnishings with the most languid, graceful, and reverent of motions.

"Were you a good king?"

Yami stared back up at him. Those violet eyes blazed with intensity, but Seto couldn't look away. "I like to think that I was. I led my people in all things. Even at that age, I would join my soldiers in battle. Khemet was in a state of crisis. Even so, I devoted my mortal life to protecting my country."

"Khemet…?" Seto asked.

Yami smiled faintly, replaced the incense in the remaining bowl. "That was its name, to us. It means 'black soil.'"

Seto frowned. "How… how did you become a vampire?"

Yami slowly stood up, gazed steadfastly upon the idols lining the altar. "I know your skepticism. You won't believe me."

Seto laughed, a bit harsh. "Fucking try me."

Violet fire snapped to him and narrowed to slits. "Under the reign of my father took place a terrible miscarriage of power. My uncle slaughtered a village of robbers to forge terrible artifacts. From their blood and their immortal souls, he created these talismans with the most odious of black magic."

Seto's eyebrows rose. "Black… magic…"

Yami's own dark eyebrow arched. "Sorcerers are all but extinct now, but yes." He turned to fully face Seto. "A single boy escaped unscathed in body, but tainted in soul. He forsook the Pharaoh, god-king of Khemet, and all the other deities." Yami's eyes grew hazy and distant. "It was as if Apep himself crawled into that man's skin."

Seto snorted. Superstitious mumbo-jumbo. "What the hell does this have to do with anything?"

Yami met his gaze again. "Everything, Seto. This man waged war against Khemet. Not only did he have allies of men, he made allies of Apep and his unholy disciples." Yami touched his side, were Seto knew a jagged scar lurked. "For nine years, I met him in battle. Though my people believed me to be Horus himself embodied, I saw, and still see, myself as only a servant of the will of the gods. It was my duty to defend their people." Yami's eyes fell closed. "It was truly a miracle I survived for so long. But in the end, I gave my life to seal away his evil."

"You died?" Seto echoed.

"Yes," Yami replied, turned away. "What do you know of the story of Isis and Osiris?" His fingertip traced upon the stone wings of the central statue.

Seto blinked. The names were vaguely familiar. Mokuba was into stuff like this, not Seto. "Not much."

"Osiris was Pharaoh of Khemet. His brother, Set, coveted the throne for his own. So he slaughtered his brother in cold blood. He hacked Osiris' body into many pieces and scattered them all throughout Khemet." His finger skimmed along the idol's carved headdress. "Osiris's wife, Isis, mourned the loss of her brother and husband. But she would not let him die so easily. In the form of a bird, she scoured the deserts and the seas and the rivers and the mountains until she assembled all of his pieces." He paused a moment, drew his hand away. "She brought him back from the dead. A resurrection. He became king of the dead, and their son, Horus the Younger, became Pharaoh of Khemet."

Seto stared at the other man, and felt his frustration mount. Then, realization struck him. "You were resurrected, too."

A solemn nod. "When I journeyed to Du'at, the afterlife, from the fog of the path, Isis herself greeted me." Seto watched him slowly close his eyes, as if basking in the memory. "In all her brilliant glory. She embraced me as a mother does her beloved son. But that was not the only way she showed me her favor for all I had done. She offered me a gift." That molten gaze regarded him again. "I could traverse between Du'at and the land of the living. But for a price."

Seto gulped. "The blood of mortals."

An incline of that sharp chin. "To maintain a physical body, I needed to ingest the blood of mortals. But I did not care. I wanted to return to my family, to my people, to my country. So I did. My family welcomed my return with open arms. My people were in awe of what seemed to be a display of my divine power. After all, I had the strength of a thousand men, the speed to rival any fast-diving falcon. The elements themselves bent to my will."

"But didn't they notice? That you needed blood, that you couldn't go out during the day?"

"That is where you are mistaken. I could go out during the day. I lived life as I had before, save for my new appetite for vital fluids. And it did not go unnoticed. But my people adored me. They willingly lined up to be my next meal." He lowered his eyes. "But I could not control my bloodthirst. I fed without mercy or restraint." His lips firmed into a thin line. "Family. Friends. My subjects. Emissaries from other nations. None were safe from my fathomless hunger." His eyes were stricken with sorrow, shame. "The black soils of Khemet were sullied with the blood of her people, and the Nile ran red." He pressed his palms to his face. "I was so entrenched in my bloodlust. Their screams, their cries for mercy fell on deaf ears."

Seto remained quiet. It was so much information.

"But they didn't die," Yami choked. "My bite is so powerful that by simply draining a mortal dry, I turn them into the undead. From my lack of restraint spawned a plague the likes of which the world had never seen." His voice cracked. "The dead feasted on the living, without pause, without ruth. My people were slaughtered by the machinations of my wanton appetite." His shoulders shook, trembling, fragile leaves in a coarse wind.

Seto edged forward, unsure. He laid a hesitant hand on Yami's arm. Yami's hand latched onto his own, and Seto jumped, but Yami only tangled their fingers together, squeezed gently to show his gratitude. Yami's skin was clammy with cold sweat.

"Isis was angered by the blatant misuse of her gift," Yami said. "She damned us all, me and my accursed offspring. Never again were we to revel in the light of Ra, to bask in his glorious rays. But a flash and we were to burn to ash, our souls left to roam the deserts, for she also forsook our entry to Du'at, the exalted Afterworld." His other hand dropped away from his face. Red tears gleamed in his eyes. The wistful sorrow that wrought his face wrenched pain within Seto's heart. "The last light so brilliant I had ever seen for over a millennia remained her white wings, though no light ever could rival her purity and glory, even if her words scorned me, and cursed me to an eternity of dwelling in the shadows." His voice dropped so low and quiet, that if it weren't for Seto's vampiric hearing, he surely would have missed Yami's next words. "Even still, she remains my goddess, my light, my guide. The white flame in the empty darkness."

Seto's head felt clogged, stuffed to the brim with this profound knowledge. But it felt as though the story were not finished. "What happened after that? What happened to you?"

A swallow undulated Yami's defined neck. "I banished myself. I left my crown to my cousin, and ordered all architects and priests to strike my name from all records. I was not worthy of remembrance. Khemet would never recall me as their king, their god, and I knew that would be for the better." He took a deep, hitching breath. "Many of my wretched offspring burned away with the rise of the sun. The desert simply couldn't afford many shelters to the denizens of the night. I sought to relegate myself amongst the fallen. I laid myself out on a cliff overlooking the Nile, and waited for Ra to begin his journey across the sky." A dark chuckle. "Oh, how I burned. I'm sure the very flesh was seared off my bones, but still I did not die. When nighttime came, I remained, and I regenerated. Even my scars from my mortal life returned to mar my skin."

The fingers in Seto's grasp trembled, quivered, fought against clenching.

"It was naive of me to think that her punishment would be so easy to escape. No, I am truly immortal, doomed to suffer for all eternity," he murmured, "or so I believed at the time." Yami met Seto's gaze. "Even when the cursed was laid, my powers never waned. In fact, they grew through the centuries. Soon enough, I realized that even in this damnation, I would have purpose, that I could still atone for the atrocities I had committed."

Only I can atone for my sins…

"You get the rogues. The ones who don't know how to control their thirst. The ones that want to subjugate the humans," Seto said. "You're… the secret police of vampires."

Yami laughed wetly. "That's one way to put it." He slowly disentangled his hand. "You are all my offspring. My responsibility. My legacy. The world is my people, and I must protect the humans at whatever cost."

Seto frowned thoughtful. His hand clenched around empty space. His skin tingled. "How many times have vampires tried to take over?"

"Too many. Several important events in history were driven by the machinations of vampires." Yami tilted his head. "The fall of Rome. The War of the Roses. The rise of Nazi Germany." A frown. "Though not the entirety of World War II. The vampiric Nazis simply took advantage of the chaos to instill their own agenda."

"Egh. That's cliched, vampire Nazis," Seto grunted, shaking his head.

"Because it's founded in truth."

"And you helped in the war, then, I guess?"

"Yes. I'm the one who burned Hitler to a crisp."

"... That's actually fucking awesome."

A snort, and then silence. Some questions were still left unanswered.

"... What happened earlier?" Seto asked quietly, and he could feel the tension surge back up, a tide renewed. He lightly touched a finger to Yami's wrist.

Yami's gulp was audible.

"I've dedicated all my years to service of the gods. Mortal and immortal alike. I've devoted my eternity to righting the wrongs of my past, to safeguarding this accursed gift. For all my efforts, Isis has rewarded me with growing power and influence." His voice dipped, his lower lip trembled. "And yet she still eludes me. Still she rejects me." A shaky breath. "Still I am eternally alone."

He turned away, head ducked between tense shoulders.

"Perhaps I can never atone."

The scent of blood bloomed on the incense-laden air. He was crying.

"Perhaps I'll never be forgiven."

Seto's gut wrenched, and though he ached to reach out, his hands remained at his sides.

"Perhaps I am fated to be forever forsaken."

The huge blond proffered the large golden pendant. Large, pale hands accepted it.

"Ah, the Pendant. That makes three," Dartz murmured. The glitter of metal reflected eerily in his heterochromatic eyes.

The white-haired man in the corner strode forward, snatched the artifact out of Dartz's grasp. He hissed, teeth bared, and hurled it into a wall. Drywall cracked and splintered under the force of the impact. The angular hunk of gold plummeted to the ground with a heavy thunk.

"You fools!" he hissed, dark eyes glinting ferally.

"What are you doing?!" Dartz barked.

The white-haired man snarled. He jabbed a finger at the immense jewelry on the floor. "That is not the Pendant!"

Rafael's face twisted. "Not the Pendant? It's exactly what you described!"

A sneer. "You're a fucking idiot if you thought that the Pharaoh would leave it simply lying around!" He stomped to the discarded gold and lifted it up in a white-knuckled grip. "This-" he shook his fist. "- is a replica! A fake. Counterfeit!" He hurled it at the massive blond.

Rafael, with superhuman reflexes, easily caught it.

"I swear, you vampires are fucking useless!" His words hissed out.

The flicker of a forked tongue.

END PART

Wow, I'm sorry about how long it took me to write this. I had to wrestle this chapter into submission. It actually got rewritten and restructured three times. I hope it turned out okay, and that you guyes enjoyed it!