-The Killer in Me-
Bakura/Ryou, AU (I guess), Bakura POV. 'R' for a reason, hon. Lemon in here somewhere... (shuffles papers) Yep. Read on.
Set in Ancient Egypt, when Yami was stil Pharoah, and Bakura was our favorite Tomb Robber. And then Ryou is in here too. Wouldn't be much of a Bakura/Ryou without him, now would there?
What's Mine- The story, the plot, my name, and a crumpled up ten-dollar bill.
What's Not- Bakura, Ryou, Yami, Egypt, Umbrella Corp., Johnny Depp, and a partrich in a pear tree.
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I watched the busy streets with mild interest, crunching into an apple that I had acquired from a nearby stand. It was bright beyond my niche of shadow, as I sat cross-legged beneath a torn awning, atop an old mud brick building, the day in full swing, the market below alive with swindling shopkeepers, gullible customers, and pickpockets. I watched a small boy lift a sizable purse from a particularly sizable lady, who was bent over a stand of glitter jewelry. All fake, and bad ones at that, I noted. I saluted the vanishing child sardonically with my apple, before biting it once more, letting the crisp sweetness fill my mouth. Apples were not easy to come by outside the Palace, a rare treat indeed. But the quality was lost to me today.
I was bored. There was nothing major occurring in the market, no fights, no one getting trampled by a horse or camel, no funerals, and none of the good places to get a drink were yet. And even if they were, it was too hot for wine. I sighed, and propped my head on one hand, still chewing the fruit. The people below moved like so many grains of sand, tiny and insignificant in their lifetime, soon to disappear beneath the others. Yet they all seemed oblivious to it, rushing about to get something or another done, feed someone, buy something, sleep somewhere. There was nothing on the God's earth that could tempt me to return to such a meaningless existence. I slept where I wanted, ate what I wanted, wore what I wanted, stole what I wanted. I was a law unto myself. Nothing was capable of standing in my way. But there was one who would try.
The Pharoah. My hands became fists without thought, the apple dripping juices as it was squeezed. The one thorn in my side that I could not remove, the one person who could even dream to stand in my way. Potent rage boiled within me, and violence clouded my vision, needing an outlet. I lashed out, sending the apple flying from my hand to sail straight into the back of a man's head below. I laughed as he turned about in anger and confusion, rubbing pale locks. Anger abated, I settled back, my attention on my victim. He stood still in the rush of people, a rock parting water around him. I watched, curiosity perked. What was he out to do? The man looked around for a bit longer, before moving on against the flow, dodging people with the ease of long practice, moving further down the long alley. I followed, having nothing better to do. Or at least that was my excuse.
There was something about him, the way he moved, the deliberate steps he took, his posture... they all spoke of something much stronger and more determined beneath a calm exterior. Interesting. Cautiously, I walked along the rooftop, one eye on the man, and one on my feet. He moved further back, away from the jewelers and food stalls towards cloth and leather-workers. It grew dimmer here, the buildings closer together, blocking more of the sun out. I sighed in relief, and slid down from one rooftop to the other, landing softly on bare feet. The man was still moving, his blonde hair so pale it was almost white in the darker alley. A few times I would have lost sight of him if it weren't for that hair. But then he disappeared under a large awning. I sighed in annoyance, and looked around to spot a wooden ladder propped against the building. I climbed down, and padded down the cooler cobblestone streets, moving with similar ease. I reached the awning, but couldn't spot my target. Oh well. I thought, and shrugged, settling back to lean against a wall, shielded by two stalls.
That was a complete waste of time, I thought, ignoring the curious stares of passers by. I wasn't worried about being recognized. I was too far from the Palace for it to really matter. I cut my gaze at the clothing stall next to me, sky blue silken shirt catching my eye almost immediately, fluttering an a passing breeze. If that was as soft as it looked... In the split second the shopkeeper turned her back, the shirt was off its rack and over my head, as I slid back into the traffic of people. The shirt felt like liquid against my skin. Material like this wasn't found on market street shops. I wasn't the first thief with this idea, apparently. At least they had good taste.
It felt good to be moving, after being immobile for so long on that rooftop, muscles stretching and loosening, my whole body relaxing. I felt invincible, strong and powerful enough to take on the entire Palace of the Pharoah. For the first time in a long while the thought of that stuck-up son of a bitch didn't make me grind my teeth in rage. It would have been worrisome if I weren't feeling so damn good. I blew out a contented breath, and stepped into a darker alley, barren of life save the rats.
This was the domain of every thief, killer, and general evil being on this side of the Nile. Technically called 'lower class', anyone who knows better just calls it The Maze. Thousands of tiny streets reaching on to infinity, it seemed, spider webbing across the underbelly of the city, dark and dangerous, even to those who live there. If you were to travel the Maze, you went armed, or you didn't come back out. Simple as that. Home sweet home.
I walked slowly, hands in my pant's pockets, listening to the distant sounds of a fight, a dog barking, someone screaming in pain or terror... I stopped, and slowly moved to the side, fading into shadow, eyes hooded. The sound, at first faint, grew louder into the sound of footsteps moving up the alley. I stood motionless, waiting... They passed my alley, not even glancing my way, tall and slim, spiky white hair falling down his back, pale skin contrasting sharply with the dark of the alley. It's not natural to be that pale... was all I could think as I saw his face in shock. It was softer, maybe, and he was a bit smaller, but I was looking at myself. In still water I was able to see my own eyes a deep brown that shaded this man's as well, a sharp nose, pale lips... all before me here. I had to stop myself from reaching out to touch his passing form, to see if he was real.
He disappeared beyond the corner, so calm that it would seem he owned the Maze itself. I couldn't stop myself from moving back into the main alley, watching his retreating figure with uncharacteristic fascination. That was how I saw the other shadows break away from the darkness to surround him. I took a small step forward, before thinking, Leave him. It's none of your concern anyway, you jackass.
The familiar smirk lit my face, and I leaned against mud brick, watching the show. The man stopped, standing in a small circle of men, four visible to me. They all were focused on their prey, and either were too ignorant to look at me, or too stupid to care.
"Got any money, pretty boy?" One hissed, showing gaps in his teeth that even I could see. I debated if I should feel offended. The man shared my face.
"I'm afraid not." I heard clearly, a higher tone than I would have expected, yet steady. My smirk grew wider.
"Ya' sure? Don't like liars, boy. A liar gets punished." Another slurred out. Drunk and stupid. It would be embarrassing if my double couldn't take these guys on. I certainly wouldn't help him. If all else failed, I'd wait for him to die, and then kill the others, and take it all. It would be interesting if the idiots thought they were looking at a ghost.
"Is that so?" he said softly, not so much as moving as shifting to the center, crouching ever-so-slightly. These men were in trouble.
"A funny boy, eh?" a thug laughed. "Let's see how funny you are with my knife in you throat!"
They all dove forwards, running at him all at once, knives raised. If I hadn't been watching, I might have missed his move. Pale hair fluttered behind his like a banner, as he spun around, neatly kicking a knife from the hand of the nearest would-be-mugger, plucking out of the air to swing around behind him as he dropped to a low crouch, scoring deep into the face of another man. Blood spurted as the thug squealed, and the pale man twisted to kick up, sending the bleeding man flying into another, both of them crumpling to the ground. Two down, two to go.
He was facing me now, as he watched the remaining two, crouched with knife at ready, his eyes narrowed, and his teeth bared in a small snarl. I blinked. Unexpected, this ferocity. There were facets to this man that had been unforeseen. The two men charged blindly again, only to have one run straight into the upraised knife, the other kicked square in the jaw. The crack echoed down the alley. The bleeding man fell heavily, but the other stood straight for a few seconds, and then slowly teetered backwards, toppling to the ground with a 'thud', raising a cloud of dust that made my eyes sting.
Applause was in order. That, and an explanation. The sound of my clapping caught the man unawares, head snapping up to look at me with huge eyes. I lounged against the building still; close enough to study his face. He backed away, as I stepped out of the shadows into full view.
"What the hell?!" he barked out as he saw me completely, backpedaling until he smacked into a wall. My thoughts exactly.
"I was going to congratulate you on your victory, friend. But I find that I have a question for you, instead." I said, moving forward to maintain speaking distance. "How is it, that two people can share the same face? Is it a mistake of the Gods? A freak accident? Or..." I trailed off, shifting a hand towards the sheath at my back. "Or... is it a trick of the enemy?"
The man looked at me with wary disbelief, stepping away from the wall. I noted that he was no longer holding his knife as I walked deeper into the Maze, watching him as he watched me.
"Be it the Gods, or a trick, I'm not sure I'm willing to share my face with you." I said, sliding my own knife from it's casing smoothly.
"You plan on changing it?" he said darkly. But there was that nervous flick of his eyes telling me that he wanted his knife back. Not happening.
"Perhaps, happy fool. Perhaps." I gestured regally to one of the many open courtyards that littered the Maze behind him. "If you like, we can discuss it over there. More light." I explained. He glared at me.
"Do I have a choice?" he snapped, hands fisting at his side.
"You could try to run." I said, showing teeth with my grin. He backed down the alley, away from the dead men, and his knife.
It must have become late afternoon, for the light was dimmer and more orange. The odd light alit his pale hair with a strange glow, his eyes seeming darker than before. Interesting. He didn't even trip on the step up to the marble dais. We stood there, staring at each other, measuring each other up. I lost track of time, studying that face, until he spoke.
"So, are you going to kill me?"
I tipped my head to the side. "I doubt it. It would be like killing myself, doing that. But then again, who knows? It might be a... liberating experience." I tossed my knife lightly into the air, catching it with ease. He almost looked nervous then. Not so tough without the weapon, hmm? Disappointing.
I sighed then, and stepped back to lean against the stone rim of the dais. Who was he? Was he indeed a spirit? Or another spy sent by the Pharoah, thinking that I would hesitate to kill someone with my features. That's why you should kill him now! Enough of this idiocy! Voices in my head, telling me to kill. Classic. Wait, I soothed. Just wait.
The knife was tossed up and down, side-to-side, over, under... I contemplated him as it moved, until it was dashing around with dizzying speed. I could see his frustration growing, until he snapped out,
"If you're going to kill me, do it. If not, stop throwing that thing around!"
Eager to die, eh?
I gave out a mad little laugh. I may be insane, but I'm not stupid. There was nothing that could even tempt me to drop my dagger. I spun quickly, feeling my long shirt flutter around me. That wouldn't do. Inspiration hit, and I slowly brought the razor edge of the knife to my throat, tickling the skin lightly. Satisfaction blazed in me like a poisoned fire at the widening of those almost too large eyes, only to have the faint echo of concern that caught the light of day as it flickered across his face squelch it. I leveled a burning glare at him, and slowly drew the blade down my chest, the silky material of my shirt bunching and then splitting beneath the impossibly sharp steel. Throat to chest, to navel, and lower, just barely skimming the leather of my pants. With a final soft protest, the shirt ends parted company over my thighs, my piercing gaze never leaving the others.
"I am many things." I growled, annoyed that he would care, letting the sleeves rippling down my arms like water, fluttering to the floor. "But to stab myself seems stupid, even to me." I folded my arms, still toying with my dagger lightly. It sparked with unholy light, and I watched his eyes rivet to the glittering weapon. The knife was truly Death incarnate, the blade so clean and sleek, yet soaked and dripping with the blood of thousands. The ruby studding the hilt was as deep a red as a bottomless pool of that blood, fading to black, endless and devouring. It was legend that such rubies would drive its owner mad with the beauty. Which was exactly why I had stolen it.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" I said softly, almost as if we were not bent on killing each other. As if we had met at a street corner, and were discussing the weather. There were many reasons why I had chosen this profession. Avoiding idle conversation with the human race was one of them.
The other man drew in a shaky breath, and I had to laugh as he fought the spell the weapon cast upon him. He shivered at the sound, giving me the most delicious mental image of dark laughter rolling over that smaller body in near orgasmic waves. The cold-as-ice hunter was gone, replaced by an unsure and tempt able child. Almost thoughtfully, I licked the blade, the phantom taste of coppery fire never absent from the steel. What was he doing here? He was experienced enough to dispatch thugs and muggers, but once faced with a real threat, he lost all focus. Puzzling indeed.
He blinked up at me, and I held his eyes coolly, impassively. I think my steady stare unnerved him. He certainly looked nervous enough. Gods damn it, why was he nervous? I hadn't threatened his life, too much. Which was odd all on it's own. What in all Hell was wrong with me? Any other person that had ever irked me would be bleeding dry in some alley by now. But this... boy... for a boy was all he was, certainly younger than myself... What made me stay my hand? What stopped me from soaking my blade once more in the life's blood of my enemy? What was wrong with me? Nothing! I swore to myself.
I moved, lunging from my perch, closing the scant space between us in mere seconds, grabbing a handful of tunic, twisting him around against me. I almost casually dropped my arm around his waist, the other holding the knife erect before huge brown eyes. He tensed against me, hands clenched at his side, still as stone in my hold. I leaned forwards, resting my chin on his shoulder to watch his face, teeth bared in a savage grin. No one got the best of me, especially not a soft boy like this.
"So foolish." I taunted, laughing softly at the expression of shock, dismay, and fear dancing on his features. Yes, I thought at that little corner of uncertainty in my head. This is what I live for. The pain... the fear... the thrill... I am not so weak as to spare an enemy because he has a baby face... MY face...
"What... do you want?" the boy hissed, teeth clenched in a parody of a puppy's snarl. Amusing in its lack of threat.
"Ch." I snorted. For all his bravo, his eyes never left my knife suspended inches from his nose. I twisted my wrist, letting light catch the blued metal, parting air with the razor tip. Our eyes, as one, followed its slow progress.
"What is in their heads, if the Pharoah would send such a soft boy after a killer like me?" I asked, still quiet, but layering malice with my tone, warning him of the consequences of a false reply. He gasped. Aha, I had guessed right.
"I... I don't know why I was sent. I don't question orders." he stammered, eye's darting like a caged animal's. Liar, liar.
"Oh?" I said, raising an eyebrow, unseen by him. "Yes... you do seem the type to follow authority blindly..." His eyes narrowed dangerously. My lips twisted in wry amusement. Trapped, and yet still defiant. No one had taken the time to break him to the will of those above him. I pushed aside a ridiculous tingle of satisfied appreciation. Why should I care about his upbringing? He will be dead soon...
"So... Answer the question, boy." I said softly, letting the edge of the weapon drift in closer to the boy's face, wishing that I could see the image of looming Death reflected in those large eyes. So large and innocent, so blindly young it made a deep part of me ache. If I turned my head just a bit, I would be overrun by that sweet scent that told of time, money, and kindness- NO! I screamed at myself. Do NOT be weak! Do not let your guard down. He's just a boy, you have done far worse! Remove this distraction before it becomes weakness! Weakness is unacceptable!
"I-I don't kn-" he stuttered, shaking against me. But I did. There was only one reason why that royal ass would send an amateur after something like me.
The knife was to his throat before he could blink, my teeth gritting together in frustration and fury.
"Oh, my. Do let me hazard a guess, if you please." I snarled, pressing the knife even closer, his breath catch in his throat as he tried to shrink away from the icy edge. I watched the shadowed alleys that surrounded us, eyes darting about as I thought wildly. There was no other explanation... but to think that the Pharaoh would sink as low as that... that fucking bastard!!
Trap. A beautifully decorated and packaged trap, a tempting morsel of bait that lured in the unwary. And like a fool, I had let them play me; let them switch who was cat, and who was mouse. See? I snarled inside. See what sentimentality gets you? A sword in your gut. The voices were silent, and my mind went still. Cold and still as the steel I clenched in my fist.
"So." I whispered, aware even of the trickle of wind that floated a ragged tapestry across the courtyard, of the stir of living shadow beneath bright awnings. The huge stone yard seemed so barren of life, yet seethed with malice and violence. "When do you signal your little friends?"
He froze, and I could have laughed at his shocked expression had I not been focusing on a faint clatter from behind me that seemed deafening in the air. That damned Pharaoh would send a boy out to die as a decoy? Hippocratic fuck.
The attack was swift, almost unnaturally so. I swore, and threw the useless boy from me. He was no good as a hostage if he was meant to die anyway. Teeth gritting together, I caught the first blow from the Guard's scimitar with the hilt of my knife, arm muscles screaming. Hissing, I twisted the blade from myself and leapt backwards practically into the next blow. I dropped to a crouch, spinning the knife to plunge it backwards into the thigh of my unseen assailant. He screamed and fell back. I lashed out, viper-quick, slicing through the hamstring of the nearest man cleanly, and dove forward to duck a beheading sweep of a huge blade.
"HA!" I yelled, sending a soldier reeling as I swept his feet from beneath him. A booted heel crashed into my shoulder, and I yelled in fury and pain. Snatching up the hamstrung man's sword, my teeth held my knife as I fanned the sword lethally about me, lodging it deep into a meaty calf with a wet 'slunk'. Blood sprayed, and I pulled back to sweep up, slashing through armor and cloth like cheese. Numbing fire swept across my back, and I dimly realized that another man had scored my back with his own weapon. I whirled, feet sliding slightly in spilled blood, vision going red with rage, chopping downwards to remove an unlucky man's hand. I didn't even hear the screams. I grinned viciously at my attacker, whipping the scimitar around at his unprotected stomach. He tried to move, but ended up staring at the steel in his middle dumbly. Pain flared, and I was looking at steel myself, lodged slightly in my side. The sword was withdrawn, and I snarled a curse around my knife, leaving the stolen sword where it was.
Spinning, I found myself facing one last standing man, the rest rendered crippled or dead on the bloody marble. He grinned at me, showing teeth as blood flowed freely from his thigh. Thought I got that guy, I thought fleetingly as he charged. The world faded into slow motion, the solid mass of the oncoming man a near crawl. It was like I was frozen, my arms refusing to move, my mind at a standstill, blood running to the tiles like sand in water. I was looking Death in the face, and it wore a turban.
NO!
In the end, it was that blood that saved me. The man's booted foot skidded slightly in the liquid, his focus jolted, his attack faltering. That split second of borrowed time was enough for me to throw off my paralysis and drop to one knee, my knife falling from my teeth to my waiting hand. I slashed across the space almost desperately, cutting straight into the stomach left open by the upraised arms that were to spill my blood.
Everything was frozen, and blessedly silent, the rush of blood in my ears fading to nothing. I felt faint, and could feel myself slipping away. But time kicked back into reality before it could consume me. The man screamed the gurgling cry of one doomed, and fell forward, at me, past me, to slide away on his own blood and insides. I listened blankly to his few last ragged breaths, and closed my eyes as the final sigh echoed across the blood-soaked courtyard.
I opened my eyes again, and looked at the sky above to see the light of day die away to nothing, night finally falling in Egypt. Nostalgic idiot. I couldn't stop the chuckle that climbed from my throat at the automatic scold from my own mind. That chuckle became a full-blown laugh, as I looked about me, the fallen men lying like broken dolls. Soon I was roaring with mirthless laughter, grinning madly. I stood, wounds forgotten, and faced the Palace of the Pharaoh.
"You've failed, you fucking bastard! Your pathetic Guard is burning in Hell! AND YOU'RE NEXT! Bakura lives still, and I will come to cut you down like the bitch that you are!!" I shouted hoarsely, the stone surrounding me absorbing the sound, yet I was sure that the pompous fuck would hear me from his gold-gilded throne room, and shudder. I sincerely hoped that he wouldn't sleep at night. It was the least I could do.
But I was only able to push away pain for so long. The status of my side and my back came back in a rush of white-hot agony. I hissed out a breath, wrapping an arm against the flow of blood, limping slightly as I moved off the gore-splattered marble platform to the cooling shadow. I needed to fix this, or I would bleed out fast. What a terrific end that would be, to a terrific day. I wouldn't give that asshole the satisfaction of killing me, even indirectly.
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Jacques- (rubs neck) Now that all that crap is done with, I can move on to what you are reading this thing for. Mindless smut!
Nike- (reads) Wow. Plot. Who'd of thunk? (munches on popcorn)
Jacques- (pauses in midstretch) That's not a word. By the way, the title comes from the song, 'The Killer In Me', a fun little song about killing death, and... more killing. Dunno who did it, though. It seemed fitting for both Bakura and Ryou.
Nike- (glares and throws a kernel at Jacques) Who cares about the title? Finish the damn story!
Jacques- (sigh) Yeah, okay. Reviews welcome. Constructive criticism a definite plus. Flames are okay too!
Nike- Yeah, we need the laugh.
TBC!