Disclaimer: I do not own Yugioh, any Yugioh characters portrayed in this fic, or 'Lamashtu'
Author notes: Aha, after that controversial chapter, answers are wanted are they not? Never fear, they will arrive . . . shortly :) Will Seth's hopes and plans be fulfilled? Bakura is a tricky customer . . .
The River of Thought
He's lost his senses. The immediate conclusion that had come to mind when he had seen the fervour in those sunken, feverishly bright eyes, the urgency in that hoarse whisper. The High Priest he had known and hated was a supercilious, aristocratic bastard who thought that every problem, every dispute could be solved with a little common sense and a dash of logic. It was almost as if they had broken him completely, tore down his beliefs and left him with nothing but a strange, fanatical purpose, to save all of humankind by handing over the Millenium Rod to his worst enemy. But there was something behind this, something that was troubling Bakura despite his scepticism. There had been an emotion in Seth's eyes, one that he could not pin down. For the first time in all his years, in all their confrontations, the High Priest had been reluctant to meet his gaze. Shame? Fear? That's not possible. Whatever they did to him would not change his opinion of me . . . I am Bakura, King of Thieves, Scourge of Egypt, bane of the Pharoah and his mortal enemy. But why was he so hesitant to look upon me? As much as his scheme benefits me, what makes him think he can trust me to fall in with it? And the Rod . . . this was the point of contention that reared its ugly head in Bakura's thoughts. That makes no sense whatsoever. Is there that much truly at stake, that he would hand over the Rod to the very person he poured his entire life into keeping it from?
Bakura thought of Lamashtu, of the primeval longing in her deep, deep eyes. She was an ancient being, that he knew, with victims captured and fed from for many centuries in order to sate her vengeful desires. He had sensed, from the very beginning, her appetite for control, her apparent puppeteering of his movements providing her with endless amusement and satisfaction. It was who he was that added to her delight. The great Thief King, tamed, brought to his knees as some twisted form of pet for her own pleasure. It had enraged him to no end at first, loathing burning almost as great as it did towards the Pharoah and his detestable, self-righteous cohort of Priests.
But there was much to be gained from his interaction with her, that he had soon seen. Despite the test she had arranged which had brought him a confrontation with the Forest's Guardian, she would look after him should he show some degree of loyalty to her; to do what she asked. Maybe the High Priest sees some semblence of truth, after all. Is it possible . . . that there is some greater intelligence, some terrible power of a higher order which these fools think they could control?
Had Bakura been a reckless man, he would have thrown caution to the winds, double-crossed both Seth and Lamashtu and claimed this object for his own. Experience had taught him, however, to be wary, to take nothing at face value. He was still uncertain as to whether he would accept Seth's proposition. He would certainly take the Rod, that much was owed to him and his people. But, as wonderful as limitless power and dominance sounded, he had yet to scope out the aspects of the tablet or 'lethal text' as Seth had called it. Lamashtu had named it differently. Ana Harrani Sa Alaktasa La Tarat. The road who's course does not turn back.
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He did not know what exactly they planned to do with him, what this new trial was, but he had some idea of what he had undergone now. His extensive reading had only hinted at it, the thing they had presented him with, the tablet. What he had read was something of a diluted version of it, the 'lethal text'. He had uttered a silent prayer of thankfulness once he had realised the nature of what the other priests had been exposed to. It had resulted in madness rather than . . .that. The lethal text was referred to by many different names, some of them obscure, some vague, others giving indications of the direct effects. The principle was that power lay within knowledge, knowledge lay in enlightenment, enlightenment in truth, in acceptance. That had been his first inkling. He did not know how they planned to use him, how they would obtain what they desired, but he would not let them acheive it. You know not what you seek . . . the thing you will find. I will stop you.
The echo of footfalls, the scrape of sandals on stone as the sentries at his door parted to allow the passage of the High Master of their Order. He sat, back rigid, ignoring the hunger and pain boring like dozens of termites into every part of his anatomy. The door swung open and Ahum-waqar, leader of the Brothers of Enlightenment, stepped in, opening his arms, his face creasing into a million wrinkles as he smiled as if greeting a long lost son.
"Are you ready, Brother? Are you ready to do your duty, to us, your only family?"
Seth stood, his face blank, white as a sheet. "I am ready to do my duty."
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The illusion trap had been clever. A strange spell, a less potent version of the shadow magic used to summon Ka monsters and creatures from the other plane, but with no less fatal effect. The creature was not brought forth, merely displayed from behind a rip between this world and the shadow realm. Its appearance was monstrous, magnified by many glamours, guaranteed to make any ordinary tomb robber take a step back and be gutted like a fish. And therein lay the crux. A single step backwards would trigger a mechanical chain rection beneath the floor, a series of cogs . . .I can almost hear them whirr, so soft, so musical . . .His instinct told him when to dodge the ricocheting circular blades . . . And again . . . dropping to the floor to avoid the spearing lances overhead . . . Not out of the woods yet . . . rolling down the long ramp, lifting, dropping, swinging, sliding . . .
And he was there. Sweat ran in clear rivulets down his chest and temples, beading on his upper lip and forehead. Elation filled him when he beheld the chamber before him, reaching right up to the ziggurat's peak, the sloping walls drawing in sweeping lines to the giant limestone slabs composing the floor. It was colossal, it was charged with an energy that he could not fathom. It's here . . . I can feel it . . .
He stepped away from the small, concealed entrance, no more than a drain outlet, carefully skirting the central aisle. There was a small, raised pedestal at the very centre, nondescript, ancient, withered vines coiling like hundreds of cobras up to the apex where they thinned out. This was where the calling emanated from . . . the spring of power, fresher than an oasis in the desert.
Narrowed eyes scanned the floor, ceiling, walls, noting the dents, the pockets, the niches, perfect originating points for the traps he wished to avoid. At the lower portion of the pyramidal chamber pillars arose, three times as thick as himself, the ancient designs carved in convoluted swirls under his exploring fingers.
And she was there, her presence sending shockwaves through his frame as he felt her intrusion into his mind, the repulsive fingers groping at his fleeting, elusive thoughts.
Rage blossomed faster than she could capture his consciousness, with all of his strength, he pushed, expelling her foul essence, Diabound's shadowy form twisting and slashing at her. With barely any effort at all, she trapped the writhing Ka beast underfoot, crushing it in a grasp that brought him to his knees.
You would break your word to me, my love? Her voice was adoring, furious and cracking under the force of betrayal all at once. You would help that Priest, the man you hate over the one who loves you, who would offer protection against all else?
She lessened the pressure somewhat and he staggered upright, eyes blazing, clutching at his chest. "Demon bitch!" he spat, "I never broke our agreement. I am here, am I not? Doing the thing you asked me?"
But it was in your mind, I saw it there! Your uncertainty will be our downfall! Can you not trust me?
"Our downfall? Ha! May I recall her highness to the actual deal we made? My Ka beast for the tablet, nothing further than that!"
Do not take me for a fool, my sweet. I know about this . . . Millenium Rod the Priest spoke of. You plan to take that too.
"That has nothing to do with you!" he snarled, "The Rod is mine by right, the Priest knows that!"
Oh, but it has everything to do with me. All that you are, I am, and the same applies vice versa. We will share this power that the tablet brings, and the Millenium Rod will make us . . . a force to be reckoned with indeed."
The hunger in her voice was unmistakeable. And he was certain, then, that she would never let him be, would never relinquish her control over him. With immense effort he restrained the urge to draw his sword and tear her apart then and there. "And my Ka beast?"
I never specified when you would receive it, my love. As much as I admire your ruthlessness, I must protect my own person. Did you think I left myself no bargaining chip?
Diabound roared in silent rage as his hatred flamed brighter than it ever had before. Ancient, cunning, powerful as you are, you know not whom you trifle with, demoness. And you will not even live to regret it . . . what a pity.
Her depravity, her desire to control and dominate had taken her too far. The Thief King had made his decision, he had cast the die. Seth, you imbecilic bastard, you had better be right. If all you said was the product of madness . . .
A noise alerted them to an approaching group of people, voices raised in chant, sandals slapping steadily against the cold, stone floors. Lamashtu turned to him, her smile widening as he dodged for cover behind one of the pillars. Bakura kept his thoughts carefully reigned, although he felt some small satisfaction at her complacency. So, the demoness believes she has me at last . . . although I am the weaker at present, she will coon learn never to underestimate me . . . it makes things somewhat easier.
He watched them bring in the High Priest, his anger still simmering dangerously near the surface as he watched the ascetic face he hated with such fervour, the complexion like freshly pounded papyrus, as he mounted the steps to the platform. Lamashtu watched from the darkness not far away, somehow concealing her bulk by an illusion charm which exploited the towering shadows cast by the pillars across the room. Her eyes were fixed on the scene unfolding before them, now that she had deemed Bakura less of a threat, and he could almost sense the sharpening of her appetite, the gleam in her eyes when she beheld Seth pausing before the pedestal.
The old man whom Bakura assumed was the leader of the Brothers of Enlightenment climbed up behind Seth. He tapped Seth lightly on the shoulder and the High Priest dropped mechanically to his knees on the cushion provided by one of the robed figures.
Bakura turned his head slightly and caught his breath. There, on a gilded platter held by one of the Brothers, was the Millenium Rod. The man held it with reverence and some degree of awe judging by the way he positioned it slightly away from his body. Closer, he needed to be closer . . .
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Seth closed his eyes, refusing to read the words etched into the tablet before him just yet, shallow and faded with age beyond reckoning. It had been fused with the pedestal beneath by some form of magic, highly powerful, but completely overshadowed by the sheer, raw energy released like a drug into his system by the weathered clay beneath his fingers. He shuddered, half in horror, half in ecstasy.
"Beautiful, is it not?" said the voice of Ahum-waqar, softly from his position above.
Seth nodded wordlessly, playing to their tune for now. Thief, I pray, do some good just this once . . . please, please be here . . . please take heed of what I said to you . . .
In the shadows, Bakura watched, awaiting his chance.