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"All was void, and black, and silent, and Nothing became the universe…
The unendurable oppression of the lungs—
The stifling fumes from the damp earth—
The clinging to the death garments—
The rigid embrace of the narrow house—
The blackness of the absolute Night—
The silence like a sea that overwhelms—
The unseen but palpable presence of the Conqueror Worm—
These things, with the thoughts of the air and grass above,
With memory of dear friends who would fly to save us if but informed of our fate,
And with consciousness that of this fate they can never be informed—
That our hopeless portion is that of the really dead—
These considerations, I say, carry into the heart, which still palpitates,
A degree of appalling and intolerable horror from which the most daring imagination must recoil."
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Blood, his own blood, seeped freely from the numerous wounds that marred his flesh. The battle won, victory theirs, yet the cost had been great; and by the feel of it, he was soon to become an adverse addition to the toll.
Darkness sought to overtake him; he fought it off with the last of his will. However, will alone was not going to be enough to halt the unstoppable this time around.
Pain, he was in so much pain, and there was no relief in sight. No one tended to the dying, the many others surrounding him were just as weak as he was or already gone.
Release, the shadows of his mind promised him that much.
With a sigh, he closed his eyes for a decisive moment's rest, leaning back against the now red-stained desert sand. Thoughtlessly, he convinced himself that his dying strength would return with the sunrise and shrugged off the pain in favor of rest.
Carelessly, doubts relieved from his weary mind, he gave himself and his consciousness over to the all-consuming gloom with little to no hesitation.
He did not realize then that this would be his final moment of peace for nearly 5,000 years to come… For his passage into the shadow realm, unfortunately, was not to be a painless one and held no assurance of ever being able for return to the light…
When he did endeavor to open his eyes again, he immediately found himself wishing them remained closed… for an eternity.
Indeed, he wished to have never ventured to expose them past the battlefield, or well before then even…
He would come to desire never having laid eyes upon the world in the first place… to curse the day he was born…
Cold, dark, and damp, any were words depicting the chamber well enough yet at the same time hardly even began to describe it... how about eternal darkness, eternal cold, and eternal dankness instead?
Not a flicker of light broke through; a seal made to be strong, sturdy, and flawless, not a crack in its protection. Its design was specifically created to separate the chamber from the outside world, for longer than time without end if necessary. The vault itself remained completely unblemished despite the testimonial eras of use…
Slowly, still not quite comprehending as to where he was or what was going on, the robber sat up; or tried to at least… There seemed to be something extremely heavy on his chest, weighing him down. He reached up with his hands
…and felt the chill of ice-cold flesh.
Bodies, he realized instantaneously, he was touching dead bodies…
Lifeless, bloody, deceased, and decaying bodies all piled and heaped carelessly atop of him, utterly suffocating... He found he could not move from under the stack, but he could not die here either…
A tomb…he was in a tomb…
…oh yes, the irony of it all…
He tried writhing out from beneath them, pushing and shoving the corpses at odd angles, using furious convulsions of his own body in desperate attempts to disentangle himself.
He continued to scratch and claw at the limp forms in panic, blood and flesh collecting between his fingernails, as though they were going to wake up and remove themselves of their own accord if he dealt out enough pain; somewhere he knew his actions resembled like that of a lunatic's, but he didn't care…
He was willing to do just about anything to get away.
Finally, after working for what felt like hours, and certainly the most tormented hours of his existence, he surfaced and freed himself.
Still panicked, he scuttled away further in frantic alarm, only to hit what felt like a thick wall of stone against his back.
There he leaned, gasping for breath and choking on the putrid decomposition; where he had previously received a knife wound worsened tenfold in pain, from agonizing to excruciating, at the sudden release of mountainous pressure. The blood-encrusted gash in his side reopened by now, he was sure of it.
As soon as the first mouthful of air reached him, he was able to taste for himself the unbearable stench of death and decay in the atmosphere surrounding him; naturally, the place reeked of it. He gagged on it, but could not escape, and forced himself to take in more of the wretched fumes, gulping furiously and feeling sick to his stomach as he tried in vain to fill his compressed lungs.
He could smell it clearly too, no doubt some of the more recently deceased were already rotting, the stale odor hung about thickly.
Oh, Ra… he was in a tomb.
He was still alive and yet buried…he was buried alive!
All reasoning left him in recognition; flabbergasted and unable to breath, his control vanished as well.
He screamed.
The sheer pitch he reached somehow was so deafening, so piercing, and filled with such terrifying desperation as to shake the ceiling of the caverns. He would have sworn even the foundations of the earth moved.
That shriek…loud enough to wake the dead…but it didn't.
Surely, he thought, someone above had heard him; surely, someone, somewhere, somehow, would yet come to his rescue…
A tomb robber trapped in a gravesite…prematurely buried…
In addition, he had no tools with which to dig, no way to find if the entrance was left or right, up or down…
He forced himself to his crouch down as low as he could on his knees, the cavern itself being not quite large enough for a man to stand, rendering him cramped within the closely confined quarters.
He had to force himself to regulate his breathing to avoid hyperventilation, air was more precious than gold now…
Bitterly closing his eyes, he felt along the roughened edges of granite walls with his bare hands, ignoring the various tiny scratches he received in turn.
He shakily continued his search, occasionally slipping on the muck and grime that covered the floor as he made his way, slowly, around the outskirts of the burial chamber. He looked for any sign of a manmade crack, or natural fissure, within the rock that reached through to the other side and would allow him to shout plainly for aid.
He guided himself over to where he thought the entry opening must be located, most likely obstructed by a huge boulder.
The longer he remained in here, the faster the walls closed in around him. It seemed any minute now they would cave in… He swore as he recognized the signs of claustrophobia gradually overtaking him…despite previous experience within such clogged places, he was still vulnerable.
Sweat poured down his frame, and he realized with the last of his analytical abilities, that at some point the temperature had risen. From cool damp to an unbearable heat, the sun must have moved directly above him without his notice, indicating nearly half a day had passed since his awakening...
"Help!" he hollered hoarsely, finally having found his raw voice again, as he ineffectively pushed against the entrance of his prison's hold, harder this time, with more diligence, more desperation; there just had to be a way out of here…
"Can anybody hear me? Please help!" he yelled again shrilly, he screamed, he was practically begging now, for someone, anyone, to be there…for certainly, certainly not everyone had just left him… there was always someone near the graves... in case of thieves…
Eventually his strength gave out, as expected, he could never move a two-ton slab of sandstone on his own, and he collapsed, panting heavily against the cold floor.
In the eerie silence, it was then he heard it and his eyes dilated in disbelief and shock, in absolute horror at the prospect of…
He felt it first, the vibrations of music causing everything to tremble slightly, then he could hear it too, the voices—joyful voices— rising up in rapture and praise. It was the celebration of something…the war efforts perhaps, honoring the return home of men to their families.
No, it was something else this time, something very different…
The styles of music used indicated something of far more importance… there was singing and dancing, an extravagant event of sorts…they were paying tribute to… something…
What it was he could not say; after all, the major holidays had just ended not too long ago...
The crowd—so impossibly far away, how could they sound so close?—cheered a name... a revered name, so strident with grandeur was it, so enthusiastic were they that it seemed to echo throughout the walls long after its completion...
Whatever joy it held for them, had managed to seize his heart and stain it black with an ultimate anguish…
For the pharaoh… the newest baby pharaoh was born of this day…
Their leader, long awaited, their savior, as once predicted, was brought into this world on the day he would…he was deemed to die…
Furthermore, everyone was rejoicing because of it.
The Tomb Robber shook with hysterics, throwing back his head and laughing at this wondrous joke, tears slowly traced their way down the dirt and filth on his cheeks.
What a trick they chose to play on him! Oh, what a marvelous prank it was indeed, able to torture him so!
Now, no one would be able to hear him, and no one would ever come. He wanted to die then, but found to his consternation that he still could not.
He was hungry; by Ra, he was so thirsty!
Nevertheless, all he could do was sit there and listen, humming the tune once in awhile and… listen to the people who, instead of rescuing him, turn around and praise their almighty one… their… their God.
Wait…
The Gods… he had yet to beseech them…
Surely, surely, surely, without a doubt, surely… they would help him escape; they would come to his salvation…at last, a hope…
Prayers, he said them all; millions of those he knew and some he made of his own accord… The entreaties beseeched any God, all Gods and Goddesses, of the universe to hear his dispirited cry.
He pleaded; begged, implored, and bargained with the imagined figures of deities… trying to find some way, anyway to convince that he was worthy!
Evidential years of dishonesty and a life of persecution were set against him…the feather of truth weighing heavily by his desolate heart on gold scales…but despite it all, he knew he didn't deserve such wrath…
He continued hoping against hope, expecting, anticipating, that somehow, someway still, they would remember and save him; that he would not become yet another utterly lost and forgotten soul…
Yet, when he finished out of breath…silence once again reined supreme, interrupted only by the sound of his rasping gasps…
It became apparent… they had either not heard or not bothered by what befell of him…
With no answer in return, he knew he—mind, body, and soul—was now broken.
He accused, suspected, and cursed every one he ever knew of this treachery! No longer did he look for a feasible explanation…no longer trying to rationalize… instead, he shouted out his hatred to the now and forever unseen heavens…
Nevertheless, with no avail… no one heard anyway...
They were all off, celebrating, feasting, and making merriment with others! Giving away gifts and blessings freely, all of them…even the Gods had willing joined in the festivities he supposed…if they existed…
Oh, wasn't it a glorious day to be alive!
They never once minded for the tomb robber, alone and inane; he was where he belonged anyway, in an abandoned grave…
He wept openly, evermore shattered at the hands of their mockery.
Lost, cold, dark, and infinitely scared… all these served and described him well as he was huddled into himself; willingly entering into an open state of shock, giving into defeat within the barest grasps his nightmares…
Hope, just as the light, could not reach him now…
How dare they take so much from him, after he had fought at stake, opposed to those monsters, to keep them safe!
How dare they turn to their future pharaoh for deliverance and leave him behind!
How dare they declare he got his own in the end because of his past and life!
He did not deserve this, no matter what he had done in the precedent…
He wanted so dearly to destroy them all… to make them experience the agony he had come so very closely to grasps with …
So thus the inevitable came.
Firstly, the denials and grief came and went. Madness overtook him next. Then an unquenchable desire for revenge swept through him, encompassing his being as a whole.
Finally conquered, the tomb robber embraced them all without another thought.
Though now finally dying, the flame of vengeful anger still burned deadly within him…and it was black.
Despairingly, he knew he could no longer endure this torture; it would have to end soon, lest he would lose his grip on the essence of humanity.
He would never come to fully know and appreciate his retribution…
The darkness indeed consumed him fully now, however slow, and he eagerly welcomed …waiting...
It was his salvation.
Instead of fearing the dead around him as any mortal should, he embraced them, feeling their congratulatory praise, hearing the wailings and shrieks that bid him to come and join with them.
That was it!
These were the bodies of soldiers buried among him; and surely not all their weapons had been confiscated…perhaps just one had been missed…
…and was still sharp.
He was beyond the morals of cowardice that thoughts of suicide usually inspired; instead, it beckoned to him with a satisfying promise…death, freedom, choosing...with no more limitations…
He was unafraid.
After all, he already knew well enough hell's depths by now.
Forcing himself erect, he licked his tongue across dried and cracked lips in expectancy, reveling in the slight stinging sensation caused.
Soon then, it would be very soon…
His aching body lurched forward; the pain had grown much direr for some reason, ever since he had first started self-inflicting abrasions across his own flesh in fact…
It was supposed to have kept him on the verge of sanity, why he had ever wanted to remain there was a complete mystery to him at present…
He vigorously began to sort through the myriad of stiff cadavers, making sure to probe each one with meticulous care before moving on to the next. One after another, he progressed, not once letting up in his eager pursuit.
He could not for the life of him distinguish where his temporary renewal of strength came from, but that was unimportant now.
Somehow, he just knew that if he searched long enough, hard enough, he would find what he was after…
It was this knowledge that drove him, as he tore apart flesh and clothing alike with undying persistence; and then, indeed, there it was.
At last, he had found it…a way out.
A single dagger driven into another's heart remained undisturbed by anyone until now.
It may have taken this man's life but to him it symbolized one small mercy…
Removing it carefully, he fingered the hilt; years of experience in thievery told him despite the surrounding darkness and loss of eyesight that it was a fine jewel encrusted blade. Finding a perfect fit in his grip, he tested it easily against his own skin, discovering it was definitely still sharp as the day it was forged; the blood caked around had not yet rusted it… quite well made to be sure.
Even the weight balance was just right for him, as though intended to fulfill this purpose from the day of its creation…
Finally, after all, an escape, a harsh relief, but still a triumphant liberty… all would be his in death…
He knew the consequences of taking one's own life, the supposed condemnation, a world of suffering his conviction, but he also understood that even the fires of the underworld bestowed light…he would see again.
His only bitter regret was that he could not make the pharaoh suffer as much as he had…
With that, he thrust the knife deeply into his heart, finding such an emotional burden would serve no purpose where he was going.
In fact, he pleasured in every minute of destroying himself.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Somewhere within the Hall of Kings, the Item, which would one day rightfully bear the name 'Sennen Ring', began to glow.
The tomb robber did indeed see the light, but only for a brief instant as he separated, before the darkness snatched him back, refusing to relinquish its hold over him just yet... or ever again.
His imprisonment was not over.
His last howl of anguish awoke the sleeping infant-boy, who would, one day, bear the name of pharaoh as prophesized, and he immediately began to cry for the first, last, and only instance in his lifetime…