Chapter warning: there's some implied rape in this chapter, but only for a sentence or two. There's violence in the chapter as well, but nothing too detailed in my opinion. Also for you who know of Bakura's past, you probably figure out what the first part of this chapter is about.

Anyway, enjoy.Please review!

"Seize them! Make sure not a single one escapes; we need ninety-nine for the ritual!" A loud arrogant voice yelled as hundreds of men stalked around, herding the villagers into a large group. Cries and angry shouts filled the dark, heavy air as each villager was beat and abused until he/she submitted to the soldiers. Children split from their families cried until a soldier knocked them unconscious and carried them to where they herded the others.

"Mother, father, where…?" One young boy said, falling silent when he saw a soldier approach and then he ran for shelter into the nearest building—an old ransacked home that the soldiers had already vacated.

"What are you looking for?"

"I thought I heard someone sneaking around here."

"We've already searched that hut; the houses in this section are already empty."

"But…."

The boy held his breath as he listened to the soldiers' conversation, scared to death that they would find him—especially since he didn't know what they would do if they found him.

This is necessary to protect Egypt. For justice…for the Pharaoh. The pieces of the soldiers' conversation he'd over heard blurred in his thoughts—he couldn't understand how any of those reasons justified what the soldiers were doing to his people.

Justice? Where was the justice in beating a child until he couldn't stand, until he collapsed? There wasn't, was there?

But that's what he saw those soldiers do—not only to the children but also to everyone who didn't comply with their orders. Why—why were they being so cruel? All right, there were some people among the villagers who'd done crimes deserving punishment—but why attack the children? The old and anyone else who was innocent? Why?

"I'm going to check."

"…." The boy bit his lip to keep from gasping in fear, sweat dripping down his skin. What did they want with him and his people? Couldn't they just let him and his family go?

Oh, Ra, please, the only one in my family who ever committed a crime was my father but that was before I was born, before he became too ill. He cried to the gods in his thoughts, pleading to them to spare his family from whatever fate awaited them at the soldiers' hands. Mother only moved here the year I was born—she's not guilty of any crimes the others have done—please Ra, please. Oh, Ra, my sister's only a year old! She can't deserve whatever justice those soldiers are talking about! Please spare us!

"Hoy! We've got our quota! Fall back!" Another soldier shouted, his voice carrying over the sound of others soldiers knocking down doors looking for villagers, and at his words all searching stopped.

The boy held his breath until the soldiers' footsteps died away, then he breathed, tears of relief falling down his cheeks—the god's must have heard his prayers, he was safe!

"Thank you Ra." He muttered through his tears, his racing heart slowing in his chest. After calming down, he left the hut, expecting everything except the emptiness in which he found himself. No one was around—the streets of his village were empty, even the livestock owned by the village herdsmen were gone, confiscated by the soldiers. He was alone.

Aimlessly he searched the streets for signs of life; he stumbled over the scattered ruins of carts, doors and tables in the streets—reminders of what had happened.

"Where is everybody?" He whispered, and, as in answer to his question, the wind blew to his left, toward a door leading underground—a door with footprints in front of it—hundreds.

Quickly he ran to the tunnel door and down the steps into a secret underground chamber. And there he got his answer—the soldiers stood guard over the captured villagers, keeping them still until they were led, one by one, to a giant pot of boiling gold.

What…no! It can't, they can't seriously…." The boy thought, eyes widening when he saw a soldier force a villager into the giant pot, slicing him first with his spear.

A sickening feeling filled the boy's stomach as he watched—as he heard the screams of the villagers as they were killed—slaughtered like sheep to be placed in the vile concoction. He closed his eyes and covered his ears, but he could still picture what was happening. It stuck in his thoughts, plaguing him—and he felt himself retch—vomiting on the ground.

"What was that?" The nearest soldier looked at where he was and the boy quickly ducked out of view, trembling, his skin drenched with cold sweat. "I heard…."

"Stop this! You fiends, how can you do this to us?" A woman's voice bellowed out above the screams—a voice familiar to the boy. "You inhuman…you foul…."

"Shut up!" The soldier nearest her yelled, hitting her across the face with his spear, forming a deep gash on her cheek that splattered blood.

Mother!" The boy trembled, tears cascading down his cheeks, fear keeping his voice frozen.

"Bitch." The soldier grabbed a bundle from the woman's arms, and the boy's heart burned when he realized it was a baby.

Sister….

"Let's see what you'll say when I do this." The soldier growled, bringing the baby to the boiling pot, holding her by her leg over the concoction.

No….

"NO! Please, not her! Spare her and take me!" The mother cried out, tears falling down her cheeks, mixing with the blood from her wound.

"Your pleads are useless, we need all ninety nine of you." The soldier said, and then dropped the baby into the pot.

"NO!"

"NO!" Bakura awoke in a cold sweat, trembling from the nightmare until he realized he was in a dungeon cell with his legs chained together. Bringing his knees to his chest, and setting his hands on his knees, Bakura hung his head down, breathing deeply to slow his racing heart.

Somewhere in his consciousness he was aware of someone talking to him, but it was faint; but he felt the hand that touched his cheek.

Growling, he slapped the hand from his cheek and grabbed it, rising to his feet—hatred and fear boiling within him. He felt none of the fatigue he had before he fell asleep—it was as though his hatred pumped adrenaline through his every vein, powering every sinew so that his tiredness vanished.

"You should calm…." The person who he gripped the wrist of spoke, but he jerked her arm and squeezed it.

"Shut up, bitch." He snarled eyes narrowing as he glared at her—the wretched woman who had made a fool of him earlier. She still looked at him with pity, with eyes that looked down on him as though he was inferior. But he'll see to that.

"Release your hold."

"No…." He said and grabbed her other upper arm, holding it within iron tight grip, then he pulled her closer. What was with her always wanting to touch him? He hated being touched. Heh, the only women he'd encountered who tried to touch him always wanted one thing—and he'd be much obliged to give it to this vixen.

"Let…." The woman's words were cut off when Bakura brought his lips to her neck and turned into a gasp. Eyes gleaming, Bakura sucked a little on her neck, and then bit it, teasingly at first, then hard—hard enough to draw blood. "Stop."

Bakura snorted at the word and bit harder, his tongue lapping up the blood that flowed from the woman's wounds. Then he pulled her closer to him, to a point that you couldn't fit a piece of paper between them. 'Who's the one in control now, hey dearie? You thought I was the inferior one…heh, heh, I'll make you pay.' He laughed in his thoughts, loving the feeling of control.

Moving his jaw so that he could lick some of the blood that escaped from his lips and ran down the woman's shoulder, Bakura scratched his own tongue with his teeth. The pain didn't make him flinch, but the moment the wound on his tongue touched the woman's blood, memories not his flashed through his mind.

"Please, spare her, take me!" A woman pleaded while a man in armor pushed her roughly to the ground, an evil gleam in his eyes. "Don't…harm her…please."

"You don't want me to hurt her? Then don't struggle. Heh." The man grinned, dropping his pants as he lunged at the woman, keeping his movements in time with her screams.

"Mm…mm!" A muffled voice coming from the side of the man and woman struggled to shout—a little girl with terrified blue eyes, bound and gagged, trembled as she watched them.

Before the man even finished, he stabbed the woman in the throat with a dagger, and blood gushed out of the wound, and bubbled foam-like out of the woman's mouth.

"Foolish wench." The man said as he stood up, sneering when his eyes fell upon the bound girl who still stared at the dead woman. "Let's find out if you're as good as your mother. Heh."

"Nn…nn." The girl shivered and shook her head in terror as the man approached her.

"No!" Higure pushed the thief away from her, trembling as she stared wide eyed at him, her hand covering her mouth in shock and disgust.

Bakura gasped his breaths as he stared disbelievingly at the woman in front of him, his heart racing. Were those her memories? Was she the little girl who watched her mother get raped and murdered, before having the man turn on her? The thought sickened him—not merely that it'd happened, but because for the brief memory he'd been the girl, he'd seen the whole thing through the girl's point of view.


Unable to speak, Higure turned her head away from the thief, her heart racing, not because of her memory, but because of a different one not her own. A memory of a little boy hiding as soldiers captured his village, a little boy who watched helplessly as the same soldiers slaughtered his family—his parents, his sister. All seen through the boy's eyes—feeling his frustration and horror.

"Oh Ra." She muttered, leaving the cell to hide in a corner out of anyone's view, trembling with horror herself.


Sliding to the floor, Bakura felt his strength leave again, his anger replaced by a different emotion—foreign to his heart. He didn't have the strength to tremble as he stared wide-eyed in front of him, his eyes focused on the stonewall but not really seeing it.

So that was her past. That's what happened to her.


So that's what he did, that's why he deserved his punishment—he lived. Higure shuddered, a cold fury shining in her eyes—she'd recognized one of the people in the boy's memory—it was a man she trusted, whom she viewed almost as a father—Akhenaden.