Disclaimer: I do not own Yugioh or any characters from Yugioh described in this fic.
Author notes: Thanks for the great reviews! Glad you like it.Lol, here's "moar".
The River of Thought
They had nothing but hatred for him, as he had for them, harsh and strong as hot steel on an open wound. It was evident in their eagerness to cause him pain and humiliation, their excited, heavy breathing, their muffled laughter and revelation in their own strength as they beat him. He, who had once been so invincible, so proud, now a mere shadow of his former magnificence, a grovelling, snarling creature at their feet.
There is a darkness, a beast at the heart of every man, so he believed. Here, in this isolated cell, far from the prying eyes of the righteous and the honourable, here they unleashed their own demons on him. He lay listening to them breathe, almost as if a single, many-headed entity gazed at him with malevolent satisfaction. He could feel their delight in his pain, their desire to cause more. It is addictive, this power, is it not? he silently mocked them. They would be back tomorrow, he knew that now. And he would be ready.
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Seth strode thorugh the palace halls, the signed and sealed proclamation from his Pharoah clutched tightly in his hand, the wax from the royal seal still warm against his palm. He was much relieved that the Pharoah had agreed with his proposition to bring the execution date forward. Seth, though headstrong and aggressive, was a cautious man. And he would rather take no risks whatsoever where Bakura was involved. He stopped outside his private audience chambers where the Sumerian merchant, Sin-nasir, awaited him with records of the slaves that had been traded in the market that day to the noble houses.
The merchant was a short, dark eyed man, hair reaching his shoulders in greased waves, neatly parted in the middle. He wore a long robe, an embroidered silk sash wrapped around his large middle and a similar shawl draped over his shoulders leaving his right shoulder and arm bare, as was the fashion with most Sumerian men. He bowed low as Seth entered, allowing his richly textured shawl to sweep the floor in order for Seth to appreciate the fine work. Seth seated himself, rather impatiently waving for the man to sit and help himself to the wine provided.
"Greetings, Sin-nasir. I trust your trading was prosperous?"
"Most satisfactory, my Lord. I have the records here." He handed several clay tablets over, inscribed with the wedged, stylus script. Seth nodded shortly and placed them aside. He was one of the few members amongst the Pharoah's royal court who had mastered several languages and the reading and interpretation of the records, thus most translation and state affairs were handled by himself and the scribes who worked under him.
"What is the state of things in Ur?"
A shadow passed over the merchant's fleshy face. "Things are not well at all, High Priest. More of the same you heard of last. And nobody knows where they go to, how they return, or what in the name of Inanna happened to them."
"Indeed," Seth's penetrating gaze scanned the troubled merchant carefully. "Has nobody ordered an investigation into these strange events?"
He was answered with a terse nod. "The city-states have ordered decrees to be sent out. A curfew has been ruled. But the state-priests are busy men. They have to attend to their duties or the land and the harvest will suffer. They are all terrified though. You can see it. They need answers which are terribly slow in coming." The merchant shifted slightly, looking rather uncomfortable. "And there are other . . . rumours. In Lagash, children have been disappearing. Infants and mothers too. Not too many to cause panic, but enough to cause concern."
Seth leaned back, frowning slightly. "It's the first I've heard of it."
"Not many are aware. They have tried to keep these matters quiet. What with the Akkadians in the north stirring up trouble, such a tale is the last thing people need."
Seth snorted in disbelief. "You're leaders have their heads in the sand if they think that's going to help. When do you leave?"
"Tomorrow morning, we leave with the sunrise. There's a strong current down the Nile. I plan to take full advantage of it."
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He could not understand why his Ka was so much weakened. Diabound was a reflection of his soul, not his physical well-being. His hatred was the same as it had always been, so why would he not manifest in all his glory? What had they done to him? He squirmed against his shackles, allowing the cold metal to dig into his wrists, the pain keeping him awake. Diabound was present, he could feel it, but a mere whisper, a shadow in his mind. He'd had to re-think his strategy. In these confined conditions, the guards would not hesitate to cut him to pieces the moment they sensed he was attempting to summon his Ka monster. And what a pitiful attempt that would be, he mocked. No, he needed something more subtle, something that they wouldn't see until the very last minute. Then the Thief King laughed silently in the dark, his mouth agape, eyes suddenly feverish and bright. A reflection of his soul. There was one thing Diabound was still capable of.
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They came for him again that night. The ritual of bread and water was cursorily performed and the aggravation began. They started by lightly prodding him with their feet, hushed chuckles grating and echoing within the small, nightmareish enclosure. He lay still, giving himself time to focus. They would get what they deserved, all in good time. The kicking became harder, rougher. One used his fist to pound against Bakura's injured midriff. He still lay quietly, allowing the malice and fury to build and build. Little by little he released the weakened essence of his Ka monster, unfurling like a dark flag in the tiny cell. The men continued, their blows ever more brutal. He smirked mentally.
Oh yes, my friends, I know how good it feels. To be controlled by hate, to release the monsters within. Give in to the beckoning. You hear it? How seductive the call is? You don't know what it is your body responds to and yet it does. You have no control. You think you are better than the common beast? You are higher, more concious, more enlightened? Ha!
The amusement and derision escalated as the outpourings of his very soul intertwined, undetected, almost lovingly amongst his attackers. Come and get me. I'm here, I'm all yours. Do with me as you will. Rip my flesh and tear my dreams. Do you think you can?
The fists and knees, elbows and sword butts increased in their intensity. They were wordless, caught up in endless violent rapture, blissfully unaware of the silent whispers in the dark from the shadows at their shoulders, the animal gleam in their neighbour's eye. Bakura's shoulders buckled under the strain, but his mind revelled. They were ready. He pushed with all his might internally, releasing the very core of his twisted soul, channeling through his Ka monster. Follow me, follow me into the darkness, my friends. Hate me, destroy me, I will give you what your heart desires . . .
A siren's call of blood-lust and rage flooded their senses, awakening a ravening beast in each of their minds and they were no longer men of daylight, men of honour. It happened so suddenly, so naturally, they did not even have time to think about how it was that it had occurred. One of the guards was pushed aside by his companion and turned on him in bloodthirsty anger. A scream rang out within the small cell as a blade punctured gilt armour. There is no cure, no light where you go. Drink of my blood, my joy, my rage, and follow . . .
An iron-clad arm was swung, breaking another's nose. A sword hilt smacked down on an unclad head. Drown in your madness, your delight. See your beast? How his ear's prick when he tastes your fury? Ha! Follow him down, my friends . . .
Another blood-curdling yell reverberated against the damp, stone walls. Blood spilt over blackened straw as blades were drawn, beserk, bloodshot eyes exchanged death vows and throats unleashed frenzied sceams. The clash of metal on metal, the grunts of pain, the slash and rip of sword on flesh and the forgotten prisoner raised his dancing eyes. The shadows call, my friends, answer and be made anew. Bless your disease and curse your gift. Life is yours! Blood is yours for the taking! Drink and be merry! Ha!
The strong smell of sweat assailed his nostrils as the jailor lurched towards him, a death's head grin plastered across his panting, eager face. He had come too near. A sword was lifted high, exposing a bare chest and Bakura lunged forward, his head colliding squarely with the man's ribcage and he heard a crack. The sword dropped, nicking Bakura's shoulder and clattering to the floor, unnoticed amidst the battle that had spilled into the corridor outside. Twisting his head, Bakura caught the keys hanging from the jailor's belt between his teeth and wrenched them free as the man collapsed against him. He flicked his strong neck, flinging the keys deftly into his right hand. A few moments and a bloody wrist later, his arm was free. Free yourself! Throw away your heart! Your beast is calling you, my friends. Crush them, kill them, show them who has power. Follow! Follow my lead!
Freedom cast a biting draught onto his sore wrists and ankles, and he stumbled, gripping the walls, snatching a sword from a still, bloody hand. He swung, carving his way erratically towards the door, laughing as he went. Out in the hallway he stepped over bodies slashed and torn beyond recognition and stripped them of breastplates and sandals. Far above his head, he heard the tramp of many feet and shouted orders as the royal guards were alerted to the cacophony below. They were moving to cut him off. Turning on his heel, he fled, barely taking heed of his battered, protesting body as he sped upwards, away from them, madness and twisted joy burning bright in his eyes.
I swallow you whole, you burn inside me. Your blood will run, your flesh will shrivel, your mind will scream, but I will live forever. I am chaos. Follow me down, my friends.