A/N: There's a longer than usual A/N2 at the end of the chapter, so be prepared. :)

Historian's Note: This story takes place before, during and (eventually) after the original story through Millennium World, following the canon established in the manga. There will be spoilers, so proceed with caution.

Soundtrack: 'Haunted' on 8tracks.

Beta: SkyTurtle.

Warnings: TRIGGER WARNING. Fairly graphic descriptions of wounds, injuries, violence and death/near death.

Disclaimer: Yu-Gi-Oh! and related characters are © to Kazuki Takahashi.

Haunted

Part XVI

Raven Ehtar

Considering his father was one of the owners, Ryou didn't visit the Domino City Museum as often as might be expected. It wasn't that he disliked the place, or was going to any particular lengths to avoid seeing his father, it just hadn't ever appealed to him as a place to spend his time. Ryou did enjoy history, and that of ancient Egypt in particular, and since his father owned the place there was always a largish section of the Museum dedicated to Egyptology. And yet he had never felt any drive to come and see the newest exhibits, to use his connection with his father to secure himself a 'backstage pass' to see where all the really interesting work was done with the artifacts.

It had never really occurred to him before how odd this was, though his father had hinted more than once that his visiting would be very welcome, and that he would be allowed more or less free rein of the entire place. Ryou had never taken those hints, only coming to the Museum briefly when he had need to see his father and his workplace proved to be the most convenient place. It had never seemed strange to him that he had so little interest. He never wondered why, now that he lived in Domino City and coming to the Museum was easier than ever before, he had only come a handful of times.

Now that he was in the Museum, walking about in the private areas where the employees did all the work with and cataloguing of the artifacts, both the strangeness of his behavior and a possible explanation for it were dawning on him.

Though his interests were very much in the same vein as his father's, he felt no need to see the latest in what his teams had found and brought in from the field because he'd lived it all already.

It was only relatively recently that he had begun to remember the dreams where he had lived in ancient Egypt, but some subconscious part of him must have remembered it all the entire time. Looking over the relics of the past when one could remember when they had been new and used in everyday life would be a pointless way to spend one's time. Even now as he walked between the tables littered with trays of artifacts, delicate tools, recorders of various types, books and notepads, he could only summon up a desultory sort of interest. Not everything which was spread across the tables came from the same time as Bakhura, nor was all of it the sort of thing that the spirit would have been in contact with all that much, but it all possessed the same familiarity which robbed them of any spark of interest they might have had. The loss of that interest, whether or not he understood why it had gone, saddened him a little.

His father, wearing a suit he looked very uncomfortable in, stepped up beside him, his eyes scanning over the table with much more of the passion one would expect of a dedicated archeologist. The elder Bakura was a good man to be in charge of the Domino City Museum. He had a genuine love of history and cultures of all sorts, and while he had a tendency to become absorbed in his work to distraction, he had an equal passion for teaching. It was common for the Museum to host all sorts of activities free to the public, young and old alike. Events, workshops, guest speakers on any number of topics, his father made sure to always have something new with which to engage the public and get them interested in the past and its mysteries.

Which was probably why the apparent disinterest of his own son stung so much.

After a few moments of silence, his father cleared his throat. "Don't take this as censure, Ryou," he said, his voice as hesitating as his body language. "I'm delighted to have you here and taking an interest in our Egyptian collection, but I'm a little curious as to the timing. Why now when you've always been welcome?"

Ryou shifted, unconsciously mirroring his father. He knew very well that there was more to the question than was immediately. It wasn't just that he wanted to know why Ryou had chosen now to come to the Museum, he wanted to know why it was he had never come before. His poor father, whose life's purpose lay with the lives of those who were long dead, and who spent so much of his life in piecing together the modes and reasons for all they did, couldn't understand those of his own son. A not insignificant part of Ryou took a small, vindictive pleasure in his father's confusion, and even a little in the visible distress he was experiencing as a result of Ryou's neglect.

He hadn't intended it, but it was a little vindicating to know that his father was feeling some of what Ryou had felt as a child.

"There was never time before," he said, answering the unspoken question first. "I had to settle in at my apartment and a new school at the same time. New routines, more responsibilities to get used to, new friends to make, plus all the day to day schoolwork. It kept me busy for a while. You know that some of my friends participated in Duelist Kingdom, and then in Battle City? I had to be there for them. I even participated myself in Battle City," he added, wondering if his father would show any sort of pride in an activity that didn't have anything to do with archeology.

Not surprisingly, his father completely failed to acknowledge his mention of Battle City and simply nodded. "I can see you've had much on your plate. It must be difficult to live on your own at such a young age. I was never certain it was such a good plan to separate the family. You know, Ryou, that if you wanted to we could find some way to make us all living together workable. The public transport in Domino is quite good…"

"No, father," Ryou cut in as gently as he could. "It isn't so difficult as it was at first, and I enjoy my privacy. Unless the financial strain of my apartment is becoming unjustifiable…?"

He shook his head. "No, no. No worries about that. Your apartment isn't very expensive, and if makes you more comfortable then the expense is worth it."

Ryou relaxed. He wasn't sure what he would do if his father had insisted on his coming to live with him and his mother. Even if privacy wasn't an issue he was really concerned with, there were other considerations that living with a couple of witnesses would inevitably complicate. He didn't know how Koe would react to having his parents near at hand again, or what might happen to them if they started to suspect… anything. Best never to put it to the test in Ryou's opinion, and to remain in his very private apartment by himself.

"So," his father said with a bit more energy, "does this mean your routine has settled? Do you have more free time than you did before?"

Ryou smiled a little ruefully. "Not really," he admitted. "I'm more settled than before, but school is becoming busier than ever, and my friends are going through some stuff I feel like I ought to help with."

It wasn't a lie, it was just a gross oversimplification. A lot had been discovered over the course of Battle City concerning the Millennium items and the spirit that resided within the Puzzle. Or at least, a lot had been discovered for the others. To them it was all new information that there were seven items all together and that something was fated to happen when they were brought together. It was a new idea to them that the items should be brought together, that it was what they had been designed for from the beginning. The identity of Yugi's 'other self,' that of an ancient Egyptian Pharaoh, seemed to take everyone by surprise, making them question everything which they had thought was true.

None of it came as a surprise to Ryou, because none of it was a surprise to Koe. He knew more than he ever really told Ryou. He could sense when the spirit was holding back or skirting around mentioning certain things, and could sometimes sense the shape of what was being withheld. He had known Yugi's spirit had once been a Pharaoh, for example. Koe had even referred to the spirit as a king to Yugi's face once. It wasn't a difficult deduction. Ryou had the advantage of Bakhura's memories to aid him as well, while it seemed the Pharaoh's spirit had retained none of his. There was no recollection at all of the Millennium items, their original purpose, or of their bloody origins.

They were heading towards a reckoning. Ryou could feel it in his own body and in the way Koe paced impatiently within his skull. The spirits of the past, their hosts and anyone else who had been directly touched by them, they were all speeding down a path none of them would be able to turn away from. It had been set into motion thousands of years ago, in the dead of night and to the final screams of terror from ninety-nine throats. It had begun in death, and Ryou dreaded that it would end the same way. He couldn't stop it, though. Things could not go on the way they had for the last three millennia. There had to be a resolution, and soon.

It was coming.

His father was nodding, his face attempting to arrange itself into something suitably parental. It looked like a struggle. "That's commendable, Ryou. I'm glad you've such good friends and that they can depend on you when they're in need. Just don't compromise yourself in the process, mm?"

Ryou's smile didn't move. "I'll do my best while continuing to do what I think is right."

He didn't know what was going to happen to him, or to any of them. The looming future promised to be life changing, but in what ways exactly and what they could expect when all was said and done, he had no idea. He could only move on, move forward, and as he promised his father, to do what he thought was right.

Which brought him to the reason he had come to the Domino City Museum. Giving himself a mental shake, he turned to face his father directly. "That's actually why I'm here, father."

Eyebrows raised, his father returned his look. "Oh? How is that? You aren't in any sort of trouble?"

He shook his head, the cord of the Ring weighing heavy against his neck. "No, no trouble. I've just been thinking about my future, what it is I would like to make my career, and so what colleges I should be preparing for."

"It's a little early to be giving such serious thought to that, Ryou. You're still in your first year of high school."

Ryou shrugged. "If I know what it is I want, then there's no reason not to make preparations as soon as possible, is there?"

"I suppose not," his father said thoughtfully. "Depending on what it is, the earlier you prep the better. And it will give you an edge over your peers. What have you decided you want?"

He licked his lips, his insides a turmoil. "I would like to go into cultural anthropology, possibly with a minor in linguistics, with a heavy focus on Egyptology."

This time there was no mistaking the flush of pleasure that came over his father, the happy shine in his eyes as he looked at him with pride. For years Ryou had shown little to no interest in his life's work, and now out of the blue he announced he wanted to follow in his father's footsteps. Unless Ryou made some brilliant discovery in the future, he was fairly certain this was the happiest he would ever see his father.

"Ryou, that's fantastic!" He clapped his hands on Ryou's shoulders, stinging him. He worked at a desk now, but he'd worked in the field for years and was stronger than he looked. "I'm so glad to hear that! What made you decide on cultural anthropology?"

Ryou shrugged, rubbing at his arm. "It just seemed like my whole life was heading that way. But this is what I was hoping to get your help with, father, in securing a good school."

"Certainly, if I can help, I will. What did you have in mind?"

"My grades are good at the moment, and I intend to take any course which will help me prepare for my major of choice, but schools will also view a student who takes extracurricular activities that pertain to an intended major more favorably. Especially anything that's recognized by a third party establishment. Like a museum." Ryou took a breath. "I would like to spend some time working with the Museum, as an intern maybe, to gain experience and show potential schools my dedication."

He'd been wrong. It was possible for his father to look even prouder. "Yes." It sounded as though he were having trouble speaking clearly. "That's a… very good idea, Ryou. Any school is likely to look on such an arrangement favorably. And so long as it's volunteer work it won't make any difference to your high school. Yes, I don't think it's too much to say that working with Domino City Museum will reflect very well on you. There are more notable museums of course, but… Do you know which school you would like to enroll into?"

"Tokyo U."

This time his father's brows flew up to his hairline. "That's very ambitious. You know there are many schools that offer perfectly respectable courses."

"I know. But with Tokyo University as my school there will never be any doubt as to my credentials."

His father frowned a little. "Just as you want. But if you don't make the cut there, there are plenty of alternatives, and no one will think less of you for taking one of them." He took a breath, looking around the workroom and straightening his sleeves distractedly. Any sort of formal clothing really didn't suit the man. He was always more comfortable in clothes which were meant to get grubby, dusty and wrinkled, and which he could be expected to sleep in and still be wearing the next day. Clothes meant to impress others always made his father look like a hermit crab trying to wear a shell that was too large for him.

"I'll go through what we have on our plate at the moment and what we can expect to have for the next few months, and find work that you would be suited to. I'm sure none of our regulars will object - they'll probably welcome you even more enthusiastically than me. We can always use extra hands. I'll need a good idea of your schedule, what days you'll be available so I can schedule appropriately."

"Actually, father, I was hoping to work on an independent project for the museum before being handed over to your workers."

"Oh?"

"Yes." Ryou licked his lips again. This was it, the real crux of why he had come, why he was telling his father any of this. "I know you have a large exhibition planned soon, one centering around ancient Egypt. I was hoping to design and fabricate a display for that."

The frown returned to his father's face, this one with something else to it. This wasn't just his father he was speaking to, now, but the owner of Domino City Museum and careful curator.

"It is true that there will be an exhibition," he said. "But all of the displays have already been chosen, and the layouts finalized. It would be difficult to add anything new at this point. And, not to put too fine a point on it, son, but the displays we choose all have a high cultural, aesthetic or educational value, often all three. I'm not sure what you have in mind could pass the same screenings as everything else, even if there were time for you to finish it before the exhibition."

It was to be expected. His father might be ecstatic with him for his apparent change of heart with his career choice and eager to help him, but he was also the owner of the Museum. The image and reputation of Domino City Museum dictated its survival, so they couldn't afford to allow anything which might negatively impact either.

Not that Ryou was ready to give up just yet. He still had his father's happiness with him working in his favor, plus a dash of nepotism. He just had to be a little bit persuasive while he argued his case.

He nodded his understanding. "I know it's short notice and that I'm untried, but I think you would like my idea for the display. You remember my hobby of putting together role play sets, the stages for my games using miniatures?"

"Yes?"

"I wanted to put together a sort of diorama along the same lines, depicting Thebes during the late New Kingdom. I've already done a lot of research on it, and I know I can get it to look very accurate. I even planned a portion of the ri- the Nile and a representation of a poor village to act as contrast." He smiled at his father. "I've been planning it out for some time. When it's done I'll even have the pottery peasants used all in place. It'll be a good educational tool, a way for laymen to get a better idea of how ancient cities used to work that's more effective than flat pictures, and it might even get the kids interested."

He was using key words he knew would catch his father's interest, and was pleased to see that it seemed to be working. "There's still the question of space…"

"I thought of that," he said brightly. "You know the disused storage room, the one just off the main hall that no one likes to use? I could use that room to finish putting together the display, and then if it's good enough for the exhibition that room can be added to the map. If it doesn't pass the test, then all you have to do is keep the door shut. That way there's no real risk, and there's the possible gain of a unique exhibit."

His father was quiet for a moment. Then he laughed, tossing his head back and filling the workroom with the sound. A few employees glanced up from their work."Well," he said once he had quieted, "you are very persistent on this point and you have given it some thought. Alright, then. How accurate do you believe your diorama will be?"

Ryou resisted the urge to touch the Millennium Ring hanging around his neck, but the weight of it abruptly became much more noticeable to him. "Very, father," he said as evenly as he could manage. "I've used many different sources for reference, and if I may be allowed to finish work here I'll be able to fill in any remaining gaps."

His father looked at him, smiling faintly with something that looked very much like approval. Not pride that Ryou was finally conforming to a particular mold that he placed the most value in, but actual appreciation for something that Ryou had done. It was a little bizarre. He nodded once, and clapped Ryou again on the shoulder. "Very well, then, son. We'll do just as you suggest. And should your diorama not pass muster for the exhibition, I'm sure we will find some good use for it."

Ryou sighed with relief, and finally began to relax. His father was moving on to new topics, but he only paid cursory attention, his goal achieved.

The truth was that he had only given passing thought to his future beyond high school. If he were somehow still alive after graduation he had no idea what he would want to do. He had given no thought to Tokyo University or his future course of study or his career. He didn't even care if the miniature he was creating of Waset and Kul Elna ever got public exposure - though given the quality it might. It didn't matter if the public at large ever saw it. It wasn't for them. All that really mattered was that it be made and that it be somewhere in the Museum.

It was needed for the future, something for that reckoning he could feel like the approach of an electrical storm. It was something Koe insisted they would need - that Yugi and the spirit of the Puzzle would need in order to recover their lost memories. Just as he was collecting Millennium items to hand off to Yugi, it was all to help along what must be. Koe meant only well, wished only to return the lost memories to the equally lost Pharaoh.

It was somewhat true, but Ryou could also feel the deception in what he was being told. There were purely selfish reasons for Koe doing what he was doing that he told Ryou nothing about. But while Koe might not tell him, Ryou had a pretty shrewd idea of what was coming.

The spirit of an ancient thief, robbed of everything including his people, the spirit of a Pharaoh who had been responsible for it all or at least had been involved, and the seven items which had started it all were all coming together. Koe might not say what it was he planned, but Ryou had Bakhura's memories. He didn't know the future, but he knew the past, and that laid out a good roadmap for what was to come.

Trouble was coming to his friends, and to Yugi and his spirit in particular. Koe couldn't be intending any sort of good by his actions, despite all he had ever said and what Ryou had once desperately hoped was true.

And yet Ryou found himself unable to warn any of his friends about what he believed was about to happen. He still cared for his friends and wished them no harm, and yet he couldn't articulate the warning that harm was coming. He was frozen.

In the end he decided that it was the memories of Bakhura which was dividing his loyalties. How could he know what Bakhura had suffered, and the reasons for that suffering, without feeling a twinge of empathy? How could he have lived Bakhura's life, felt as he felt, and be left untouched?

He couldn't. Bakhura had been a part of him too long, and now Ryou's heart beat in time with the man of ancient Egypt. It yearned for justice and retribution, for revenge and for the acknowledgement of all the wrongs done to him and to Kul Elna.

Ryou cared for his friends, but what was one to do with a heart so divided?

All he could do was to help along the coming reckoning and hope that, when it arrived, everyone could somehow be saved. It seemed impossible from where he stood now, but they had all achieved so much in the past that had seemed impossible. Surely this could also be done. The spirit of the Puzzle wasn't a bad person. Once he recovered his memories and saw what had befallen Bakhura, once that tragedy was known to him and to everyone else, surely then they would all fight just as hard to redeem the last child of Kul Elna.

It was what Ryou intended to do. He would fight for Bakhura's redemption even if no one else did.

An image of a man, alone under a sea of stars with both revenge and redemption held just out of his reach came to Ryou and made him shiver with remembered cold.

Don't worry, Yadonushi, Koe whispered to him as he walked beside his oblivious father. We will be setting everything to rights. You'll see.

Ryou's hand did stray to his chest that time, feeling the Ring warm against his skin, and the halo of old scars of the points in his flesh. He wished he could believe the voice in his head, or barring that, that he could at least hate it properly.

"This is it, Bakhura! That stone tablet will be your tombstone!"

Raw heka rips through the air, igniting the dust of previous strikes before finding its target. Diabound is struck, unable either to hide or to dodge, manipulated into place by the Pharaoh and his priest. The attack strikes him full in the face and he shrieks, the unearthly sound shaking the tortured stones of the hidden temple. In a small but excruciating echo, Bakhura screams, the agony of the attack ripping through his own face.

He clutches at his eye, blood filling his palm. The world tilts with the force of the blow, with the strength of déjà vu. Rage rushes through his body, holding him up. Rage that is his own, rage that belongs to the muuet of Kul Elna, the rage of Diabound which is concentrated and focused, it all fills him, gives him strength and he knows that he will win.

He grins, tasting metal. He looks up, his vision blurred, but clear enough to see the hated faces before him. "I took that straight in the face, but it didn't hurt at all."

The faces are angry, frustrated. Still they do not believe that Diabound can take their blows and remain standing. Still they do not believe that their fates have been decided. Still they do not accept that this place, this place that saw so much death for those pretty tools they use so freely, will soon be the resting place for their worthless bones.

The dead priest, the one he had killed and who now is a ka himself, thrusts his staff towards them. "You will not resist this!"

The air roars to life with the force of another heka blast, but Bakhura only laughs. "You live with time that is not your own, magician! You will not strike us twice!"

Diabound takes up the fallen pillar, responding to Bakhura's silent urging and shatters it, disrupting the blast and sending everyone diving for cover. Bakhura continues to laugh, the rage and the joy rising within him in equal measure, energizing his him, making him giddy with power.

So much power already with only a few of the Millennium items, and so much more soon to be his. All he needs is a few more, a sacrifice to complete that which had begun fifteen years ago in this same place, and the door to Zorc will be opened. Soon it will all be over, it will all be finished at last.

"For all of the heka you've used," he mocked, the blood still flowing freely down his face, "all you have accomplished is making Diabound angry!"

He shrieks, his Diabound, his little God. Not so little now, no, not at all. He is huge, powerful and beautifully twisted. His God ka, the part of himself that is himself, the purest representation there could be. Diabound is strong and clever, and so very, very full of rage. His beautiful Diabound. They have both come so far since that day they had met beside the river, a basket of stolen food between them.

The battle rages on, Bakhura and Diabound against the Pharaoh, his dead magician and one pathetic priest. He glories in his power, in how easy it is to call forth a second ka to protect the stone tablet from any direct attacks. He takes delicious pleasure in the look on the young Pharaoh's face when he sees it, when he understands just what it is he's facing. There is a little disappointment in Bakhura's heart, a small thorn of dissatisfaction that the Pharaoh he faces now is not the same as the one who sent the soldiers and the priest mages. This Pharaoh is even younger than Bakhura and he had only been a child during Kul Elna's slaughter. It is a disappointment, but one which is easily shrugged away. He is the flesh and blood of the man who would so sacrifice his own people, and in him lies the same tainted spirit. The muuet will feed on him just as eagerly as his father.

After all, Bakhura had taken his revenge on the old Pharaoh, hadn't he? Given him one last ride in the sun, treating him in death just as he had treated Kul Elna in life. If they could find no peace, then why should he?

And now he will have the son, this new Pharaoh who, even after learning the truth of his father and of the items, still radiates pride, arrogance, entitlement. Bakhura is not surprised, and feels no regret as Diabound strikes, again and again, wearing the stripling king down.

The excitement builds in him as he watches. Diabound is hidden, a part of the temple itself, and cannot be found, no matter how hard the Pharaoh squints. His clever Diabound, a part of the very shadows, he can only imagine what his ka might be capable of once he takes the power of Zorc.

Without the priest and his sniffing hound, Diabound is invisible, but Bakhura can feel him, knows where he is, can practically see him as he approaches the Pharaoh…

Wait. What?

The Pharaoh looks at him, a contemptuous smirk on his lips. "Mahado was not expending heka to no purpose," he says, and has the impudence to sound smug. "He has brought light to this park place and exposed you both!"

It's true. He'd thought the last attack launched by the dead priest had been random, heka going in all directions in hopes of a lucky hit. Bakhura hadn't noticed most of the shots had been directed up, towards the ceiling. Light now streams into the temple where the ceiling has been broken through, stripping away the darkness, shredding shadows.

It's obscene. This is not a place that was ever meant to be seen so clearly, the sins of the past touched by Ra's gaze.

Diabound is also touched, and without shadows he is exposed. An instant is all it takes to understand, and in that instant he sees where it is the dead priest has gone, and what he is doing.

"Now, Bakhura, may you disappear into the darkness!"

He cannot do anything, there's no time. No time to attack, no time to retreat. Diabound is exposed, he's directly within the dead priest's sights, and heka is already gathered at the point of his staff. All he can do is brace himself as the attack is launched, striking Diabound all over his body.

The pain this time rips through Bakhura, seeming to take pieces of him with it. He screams, collapsing to his knees, every place where Diabound is struck lighting up with agonizing fire. There's more blood dripping down his face, he can feel it. It's in his hair, heavy and warm, and he can feel it other places, rivers flowing down his body. He coughs, and a thick constellation of crimson spatters the dusty floor. Something inside is torn. For an instant his mind is taken from the moment, wondering what it was the people of Kul Elna had seen and felt just before their souls had been ripped free. Had it been something like this? Patterns of their own blood inches away from their faces, while someone who thought them less than human stood over them, holding the final blow?

Bakhura grits his teeth, willing himself back to the present, back to his feet. He is the last of his people and he is strong. He'd survived everything, and he will kill they who murdered them, who grew fat and complacent off the blood of Kul Elna. He will kill them all, take the power, and then…

He hears the Pharaoh speak, young voice tired and wary, "Is it dead?" It's unclear who he means.

Diabound moves, rises and the Pharaoh skins backward, away from the hulking God ka. "There's still some strength in the beast!"

Bakhura forces himself to laugh through the pain. Blood mists before his eyes. "Some? Idiot Pharaoh! In this place we have unlimited power! I am the last of Kul Elna, I am Kul Elna! Muuet, come to me!"

Around him the lost spirits of Kul Elna, forever swirling, forever restless, fly to him, sink through his skin. He shivers, the touch of so many dead freezing him from the inside out. But they fill him with strength as well. His legs are better able to support him, the strange fluttering in one lung stilling.

He can see the look of horror and disgust painted across the Pharaoh's face, and he grins. To accept, let alone invite wandering souls to take residence in one's own body goes against every teaching of the land, flying in the face of Ma'at. But what cares he of Ma'at? He truly is all of Kul Elna now, and they will have their revenge.

Taking of their strength, Diabound roars back up from the ground, shrieking defiance. His beautiful ka. They will have their revenge, oh so soon now.

With the muuet of Kul Elna a part of them, the battle begins anew, now much more to Bakhura's advantage. The spirits form a protective shield for Diabound, and with their power added to his own, he presses back the dead priest easily. He scores a direct hit on the floating annoyance, slamming him into a pillar, and Bakhura has the great satisfaction of watching the Pharaoh stumble and drop down to hands and knees.

Yes, 'Great Pharaoh,' he thinks. That is how it should be. You, on your knees to me. Prostrate yourself before those who gave you any true power and who the world would forget!

We will never be forgotten!

Diabound charges toward the fallen priest, claws raised to strike. One more blow is all it will take to kill him once and for all. There are no more tricks he can play with his ba and his ka to cheat death, he will be utterly destroyed forever. With him destroyed, Pharaoh will be an easy kill. Bakhura grins, the taste of blood heavy in his mouth, the excited writhing of the muuet crawling through his whole body.

"Millennium Key!"

The cry rips Bakhura's attention to a side. He had almost forgotten the priest, who is even now summoning a new ka to save his Pharaoh. With a disdainful motion, Bakhura has his own second ka attack the upstart priest, striking him through and silencing his insolent tongue. None shall keep him from his revenge, from the justice so long denied him. Not kings, not Gods, and certainly not half competent priests.

The priest is easily felled, defenseless as he is. The Millennium Key flies from his hand, quickly snatched up by the muuet and brought to Bakhura's waiting hand.

Three items, now; the Ring, the Pendant and the Key. Bakhura feels the throb of power within the Key, but it is distant, not flowing into him as the Ring and Pendant. It doesn't matter. He has more than enough power with two items and the dead of Kul Elna to deal with one collapsed boy and his failing ka.

Diabound attacks, crushing stone, the whole temple trembling under his might. Bakhura's heart leaps with delight. The priest is dead at last, dead! And because he had foolishly made himself Pharaoh's ka, his death will be the instrument of his beloved Pharaoh's death as well…

The dust clears. There is no body.

What?

A motion catches his eye and he raises his eyes. There, rising through the air is the dead, crippled priest, being dragged along by some girl… The priest's apprentice when he had lived.

Bakhura growls low in his throat, is echoed by Diabound, a sound like boulders grinding together in a landslide. Beyond Pharaoh and the spectacle of the dead priest he can see four figures, all priests, enter the hidden temple. With their dead comrade and the one hanging limply from Pharaoh's shoulder, this makes up all six Millennium priests. All of those trusted with the items and their powers gathered round him.

All but one.

As the priest and Pharaoh meet and regroup, Bakhura finds himself smiling once again. He wants to laugh, but a stab of pain beneath his ribs warns him. Instead he calls out to the priests, taunting them. "So you have come, iwiw priests. And you've fetched me some beautiful gifts as well! How thoughtful!" He straightens, raising his head and holding the Millennium Key aloft. "Three of the items are already mine. When I defeat you and take the final four, there will be no power in the world that can stop me!"

The priests respond with typical, expected arrogance, defying his claims with threats of their own. Blood both fresh and drying painting his face, Bakhura grins fiercely at them all.

He will take the items from their hands, and this time it will be the blood of priests that flows in sacrifice!

Opposing sides clash, the priests pitting their many and varied ka against his Diabound. They have the advantage of numbers, but they are nothing to Diabound's strength, their attacks useless against the protective shield provided by Kul Elna's dead. They attack, are repelled, regroup and attack again only to be repelled a second time. The laugh comes from an uncontrollable place inside Bakhura, tearing him and bringing the fresh taste of blood, his mirth flavored with copper.

Diabound lashes out, pushing back the assembled ka. One takes the brunt of the attack, and Bakhura hears the priest attached to it cry out in pain. Bakhura's grin widens. It is only a matter of time.

But then, one of the priests steps forward, wielding the Millennium Scales. He speaks, but his voice is lost to Bakhura in the sounds of battle, the groaning of tortured stone. He does something, holding the Scales aloft. There is a blinding flash, in the center of which he thinks he can see the shapes of the priests' ka twisting, flowing together, merging

When Bakhura can see clearly once again, the many ka are all gone, and instead there is only one left. An unfamiliar ka that radiates power and menace, a plated dragon creature wielding a blade.

Bakhura's stomach drops at the sight, understanding coming quickly. They fused their ka?

The priest with the Scales steps forward, proud face dark with anger or effort. "This is the secret of the Millennium items, itja! It is the power of unity, to bring our hearts and spirits together. It is a power you could never wield, never know!"

He grinds his teeth together, making him grin. It is now two ka against two ka. Fewer enemies to fight, but each of them strong.

Fools, he thinks. Do they not see who it is they fight? I, who am many; I, who hold all of the souls of Kul Elna; I, who am an entire people in one skin? It is I who knows nothing of unity? Truly these priests are blind, seeing only what suits them. It is good they are about to die.

The fused ka of the priests and Diabound attack at once, their heka meeting in the air and stopping, their power stalling either from overpowering the other. Surprise runs through Bakhura, but more than that, pain. The abrupt stall has sent a tremor through Diabound, and so on through. The sensation of liquid running down his body, soaking his clothes makes itself felt once again. There's an odd fluttering in his chest as his breath grows shorter and shorter. Something is wrong, he can feel it on the edge of his attention, overpowered by the battle but growing more insistent. He must finish this soon, must take the last of the Millennium items and gain the power of Zorc. The power is the key, the answer, the solution to it all. He must have it, must have it, have it for his own, or there will have been no point, no point at all…

He directs Diabound to attack with both of his heads. The increase in raw heka forces the fusion back, back, on the verge of being destroyed by its own fire…

The priests are desperate, driven to a corner, Bakhura can see it in their faces. He is so close, so close to finishing them all off and at last taking what he's worked so hard for.

He can see the priests confer, and they make a desperate move, sacrificing a limb of their ka to get off a clear attack on Diabound.

It is a pointless sacrifice, wasted as the muuet of Kul Elna rise up to fend off the attack. Bakhura laughs, his head spinning. "Weep, priests!" He screams across the temple. "Weep for what remains of your lives, for your pathetic excuse for 'unity'! Weep, and go to the underworld in despair!"

A jolt goes through Bakhura. He looks, disbelieving, as the attack leveled at Diabound actually begins to damage the muuet barrier!

How? How is it possible? He can feel the rage, the hatred and despair of his people. How is it that anything could break through?

That priest with the Millennium Scales, there must be more to its power than first met the eye. It is his fusion of the ka which does this.

He must be put down.

Bakhura hardly needs spare a thought to have the second ka attack. The priests do not expect it, they are too concentrated on Diabound, on breaking the barrier which surrounds him to remember that Bakhura has a second ka, and that this ka is just as capable of lashing out.

The heka is upon them before they can react, before they even realize there is a danger, and the priest holding the Scales is lanced clean through the chest. A fine mist of scarlet erupts behind him, bathing his comrades with his life.

"You focused too much on the serpent," Bakhura murmurs. "And so were stung by the scorpion."

The Scales tumble from the priest's dying fingers. Before it can even clatter to the stones it is caught by the spirits. He holds out his hand and it flies to him, slapping against his palm.

Four Millennium items. Only three left. He is almost there.

Without Scales the fused ka can no longer exist. It dissolves as he watches, its attack disappearing right along with it. He looks down at the Scales, probing at it with the senses he has become aware of through contact with the other items. There is power within the Scales, great power whose limits even its wielder had failed to utilize. Like the Key, though, that power is recalcitrant, flowing into him only at a resentful trickle.

He grits his teeth. Why are the Millennium items so miserly with their power? He doesn't understand… but he doesn't need to understand. He just needs the items.

Bakhura looks up in time to see the priest he struck breathe his last, and for those around him to cry out in dismay. The mad rage within him bubbles up in another wild, painful shriek of laughter.

"So much for your 'unity,' Pharaoh! For all your fine words, there is no power you have that was not first forged from the blood of my kin!"

The laughter leaves him, and in its wake Bakhura must catch his breath. The air is not so choked with dust as it once was, but it's still heavy. He can't seem to draw enough in to be comfortable, to calm his shuddering heart. "All that remains…" He struggles to make himself loud, to be heard, but he can't get enough air. "All that remains… is for Diabound… to send you all to the afterlife." He manages a smile. "I hope your souls are ready."

Pharaoh stands over the body of his fallen priest, his face dark. Even through the haziness of the air, Bakhura can see the rage writ in every line of him, the murderous intent in his eye. "You will not find it so easy as that!" His shout is loud in the lapse of battle.

Bakhura's voice, when he speaks, cannot match it. "And what… could that mean, I wonder? Well… my 'Great Pharaoh'?"

The Pharaoh's face twists in contempt. "Look at Diabound," is all he says.

Bakhura does. At first nothing seems out of place, there is no damage to his beautiful ka, and even if there had been he would have felt it.

And then he sees it. A hole ripped through the muuet barrier, leaving Diabound exposed on one side. Bakhura's heart lurches at the sight, a glimpse of the near future trailing across his sight and filling him, for the first time, with dread.

"You see, our unity is more than enough to break the defenses of you, kinless one!"

There is no time. No time to defend, no time for his second ka to gather the strength for an attack, no time for Diabound to retreat to the shadows, not even any time to scream defiance. The dead priest is there, raw and swirling heka in his hands-

- pain -

- light -

- heat -

- noise -

- pain! -

Bakhura doesn't realize that he's screaming until he chokes, trying to gasp through a throat clogged with blood. The entire inside of his skin feels as though it's been roasted over a fire. Somewhere in his body he feels something dropping, but cannot tell what or even exactly where it is.

He chokes, coughs, his trembling legs still somehow managing to hold him upright. The dust at his feet is pattered and pocked with his blood. He sees it, running freely down his hands, dripping from his face, practically pouring from his mouth.

His body feels far away, but he forces his head to rise. Through eyes that will not focus, he sees Diabound - his Diabound, his beautiful ka - fade into nothingness. As the last vestiges of him are lost, Bakhura feels something within him collapse, and his knees buckle.

He is dead. Diabound, his little god and companion of his youth, is dead. He feels it, knows there will be no returning this time. Pharaoh and his priests have utterly destroyed his ka, leaving hollowness within him that no other loss had ever managed to achieve.

And just as he knows that Diabound is dead, he knows that he, Bakhura, is also dead. The certainty slips into his mind like a sliver of ice. He's already dead, and it's only a matter of minutes before his spirit joins those of his people, lost and roaming for all eternity. In truth, he's been dying for some time, his rage and heka the only things fighting off the pull of the underworld, and only Zorc's power offering him any way to survive.

Bakhura lifts his head, heavy as though stuffed full of stones, and peers at the shifting shapes he knows to be Pharaoh and his people. The flame of rage within him, flickering but never doused, burns a little hotter.

I must… kill… Pharaoh…

Thoughts are sluggish, hard to grasp, but that is one he can take hold of. Pharaoh must die.

In his hands he still holds the Scales and the Key. Round his neck hang the Pendant and the Ring. Three are still missing, but he has more than half. Sluggishly, an idea forms. Had he been fully cognizant, he would doubtless have scoffed at it. But now, it's all he has, and there is no more time.

But there could be.

Using a strength he finds wondrous, Bakhura half stumbles, half crawls his way to the Millennium stone. As he drags his way there, he can feel his life draining away. Pharaoh and his priests, probably recognizing the futility of what he seems to be doing, do not attempt to stop him, not even so much as to shout.

The world is one of shadows, darkness dancing on the edges of his vision. Bakhura must feel where it is the items fit the stone, fingers shaking, metal rattling. He is dying, but he must live just a little longer. Just a little more for one more trick, one last thing to steal.

I… am the king… of thieves, he thinks, fitting the final spike of the Ring into place. There is nothing… nothing… I cannot steal.

It is done, but still there is more. His hand heavy and gloved in his own gore, Bakhura takes hold of the knife at his belt. The same knife he stole all those years ago, the one imbued with sacrificial heka and one he has used in ritual himself. The handle is slick in his palm, its shining edge a crescent moon in the encroaching darkness. He lifts the knife before him, darkening eye drawn to the glittering curve…

Slowly, he falls forward over the stone, his blood running over it, over the Millennium items. The darkness is all he can see.

It seems an age passes before he knows anything more. A sound - a step - coming closer. The darkness parts, and a face peers in on him. A familiar, hated face.

It is the last of his strength, the last possible reserve of his failing body, and he uses it all at once. With one hand Bakhura swipes forward, seizing the hand parting his hair, doubtless to confirm he was dead, while the other drives forward, crescent blade leading.

There is resistance, not much, a surprised cry, and then the satisfaction of blade sinking into its target, of warmth not his own washing his hand.

In the distance, Bakhura hears the shouts of the priests, but they don't matter now. All that matters is Pharaoh, staring in disbelief at the knife in his guts.

"Think not to escape me, Pharaoh," he whispers, words for his hated enemy alone. "Not now, and not ever."

Pharaoh looks up at him, and he sees a reflection of himself. Blood from the battle covers his young face, and in eyes shaded like the death of Ra's light, lies the same ferocious hatred that has driven Bakhura since childhood.

He smiles in Pharaoh's face, delighted in the twin he has made of this boy..

He pulls Pharaoh closer, until their faces are nearly touching. It's growing difficult to see, and he must see, the Pharaoh must see, and he must hear.

"Listen, Pharaoh. With this I make a sacrifice of myself, the last of Kul Elna, the final soul to join those who have gone before. I make of myself this sacrifice so I might live on, and complete what I have begun. And you… of you I make sacrifice as well, but also this curse. You will never know peace, nor rest, nor oblivion. I bind you into eternity with me, never again to taste the fruits sprung from the murder of others."

He grins at the fury in Pharaoh's face, the way his body shakes as he twists the knife. Blood trickles form his mouth.

"You will never be free of me, my dear Pharaoh."

The Pharaoh coughs, blood flowing faster. "Itja," he manages. "You will pay for these crimes…" He draws a breath, sobbing and full of pain.

"Now, now, Pharaoh. There is no point in so distressing yourself. For you see…" He rips out the knife, pulling sideways to leave a wide gash. Pharaoh's hand goes to the wound, but he cannot hold back the tide of gore and viscera. Without resistance, Bakhura takes hold of his other hand, slams it to the stone, his own hand lying atop it, holding it in place, and drives the knife through them both.

"You're already… dead…"

His strength gone and the shadows rushing in from all sides, Bakhura lets himself fall beside the Pharaoh. He has no doubt that his sacrifice will be accepted, that what he wishes will be granted. Kheru - Zorc will not allow one so faithful to be wasted in such a way.

He will survive somehow. He will steal time from the very gods and none will be able to stop him.

Head heavy, it falls in the direction of Pharaoh, and their eyes meet again, locked together as they each depart the world.

"Even you…" he murmurs. "Mine… now…"

He wants to laugh, one final chuckle in Pharaoh's dying face, but he cannot. The tide is pulling him away, that same familiar pull that once nearly carried him away to the underworld. Against its inexorable tug, Bakhura cannot laugh. All… he can do… is…

The endless desert is cold, empty and soundless. There is peace here, of a kind. It is the peace of the never changing, of void and of infinity. Overhead is an ocean of stars, bright and distant, below nothing but sand. Sand, a winding river, and a city whose streets are lit with flickering torches.

The city of Waset, home to the Pharaoh of the Two Lands.

Bakhura sits, watching the city. In his heart hatred still burns, but now it is more an ember, a coal whose flame lies beneath its surface, flickering in a liquid dance. Within rests the potential for a great, all consuming fire. He has learned to be patient, to find this waiting stillness in himself. He has been a part of this unchanging reality for longer than he could ever guess, always faced with his enemy and never able to approach.

One must learn to adapt, or one would go mad.

So he waits. He waits for his time to come. And he begins to forget.

He does not forget all, but some. Time wears away the memories until only the sharpest and the most painful remain. Under a black sky full of stars, Bakhura begins to reflect them, becoming a thing emptiness scattered with pinpricks of light, with memories shining out as a rough map to his past.

Except… things are changing. Memories are relighting in the darkness of his mind. He does not know why it is so, but the why does not matter.

He is patient. He waits. He watches.

The embers of his heart stir to life.

Within the vault of his memory more lights come to life, and Bakhura stirs. He picks up his head and looks around. There is a familiar scent in the air, a presence in the darkness he knows in a way he cannot explain. He looks around, but nothing meets his eye. He frowns.

"… Sheut?"

Ryou wakes with a calmness which surprises him.

He blinked in the dark, staring up. He didn't know what to expect to see at first; a stone ceiling broken with the attacks of a spirit monster, or an endless celestial sea of untouchable stars? But no, neither met his eyes. Only his own ceiling, plain and familiar, half hidden in the darkness of his apartment.

He didn't move, but just ran through all of what he just experienced. It wasn't often that he could remember so much directly after waking up, and it takes a little while to process.

He ought to feel disturbed, he told himself. He'd just witnessed- no, experienced the murder of several people, and then Bakhura's suicide, all as though he had done it himself. In a way, Ryou had felt what it was like to die; the pain, the heaviness, the panic and understanding - like the last instant just before falling from a cliff, just as gravity takes a full grip on the body and pulls it down. He'd felt the blood, smelled and tasted the gore all around him. But that wasn't what bothered him.

The look in the Pharaoh's eyes when he looked at Bakhura. The words he had thrown at the thief, the sheer venom in him, the incandescent hatred he leveled towards the last stray of Kul Elna. Ryou knew he ought to be just as disturbed by Bakhura's hate, if not more so when considering where that hate promised to take him… But it was the Pharaoh who occupied his thoughts. The Pharaoh who was the spirit who occupied the Puzzle, who was Yugi's and all of their friend, was the same man who faced down Bakhura with murder in his heart. Whatever his motivation, it was still a hard thing to see. The next time he saw the spirit of the Puzzle, would he be able to greet him, speak to him, or even look at him the same way as before? Or would the image of him, blood stained and raging, always be what he saw when Yugi was possessed with the spirit?

Yugi… how was he affected, really, by the Pharaoh's spirit? How much would he be affected when the Pharaoh's memories returned, and he remembered who he was? Would Yugi, as Ryou knew him, survive the remembrance?

Ryou sat up, expecting his body to scream in protest, but it didn't. He wasn't injured, he hadn't spent hours in a grueling battle. It always takes time to fully remember where and when he is whenever he experiences one of Bakhura's memories.

Once he was certain he knew where he was, he closed his eyes. Uncertain that what he wished to do was even possible, he tried to reach inward, towards the place where stars hung and the sun never rose.

Bakhura…? Bakhura?

He didn't know what to expect, had never tried to reach the spirit within the Ring in such a way before. There's no real reason to think that it would work, but still he tried. He wanted to speak to Bakhura, to sit with him again. After what he'd just experienced, he wanted very much to reassure himself that the spirit was still… around.

Bakhura. Bakhura.

And just who do you think you are calling with that name?

Ryou froze. He should have expected that if nothing else, he supposed.

He swallowed. "Bakhura. The man who once lived in Kul Elna and intended to have his revenge for what happened there."

That one, Koe said after a moment. I'm afraid he is gone, Yadonushi. A thing of the past and best forgotten.

Ryou paused, a frown beginning to form. It would be easy to think of Koe as Bakhura, Bakhura after millennia trapped in a Millennium item, just as Yami was the Pharaoh, altered by his long imprisonment. But after reliving so many memories, and after so much time having Koe in his mind, Ryou had a different thought.

"Aren't you Bakhura?"

There's something like a chuckle in his mind. In part, perhaps. A piece of him remains, but as for the man himself, he is dead and dust. Only your memories of him linger on.

Ryou heard the falsehood - felt it - but didn't call it out. After a moment of silence, Koe went on.

Get some sleep, Yadonushi. It's a busy day tomorrow.

He made a sound of agreement, arranging his thoughts carefully so they reflected nothing but concurrence. Eventually he felt the presence of Koe withdraw.

What Koe said reflected what Ryou suspected, but he suspected more. There were aspects of Bakhura within Koe, no doubt of that. But Ryou also saw there parts of himself. Koe was a creature of many pieces taken from others, a Frankenstein's monster of souls. But there also had to be a central core there somewhere, someone who had been individual before the additions.

With the help of Bakhura's memories, he thought he knew who that could be.

Zorc Necrophades.

A/N2: I kinda hated writing this chapter. Not for the writing itself, but because of my routine I end up re-reading it all a minimum of five times, and ow.

Volunteer Work: I'm making an assumption on this point that those high schools that have a problem with their students holding down jobs (as we know Domino High does, since Anzu had to hide her job for the five minutes she had it) would be more lenient when it can to volunteer work. And if they weren't, Ryou can always frame it as just helping out his dad.

Tokyo U: Okay, I'm going to level here, I have no idea if Tokyo University would have the courses Ryou's mentioning. I tried looking it up, but found nothing definitive. So we're just going for a common cliché and calling it good enough.

Independent Project: Ryou was indeed the one who created the tabletop miniatures representing the past. While it is explicitly mentioned in the manga, this was an inspiration taken from - yet another - doujinshi. This one was

The Final Battle: For those who want to read this in the manga, it spans Duel #35 - Duel #41. For those who have read this section, there are some pretty noticeable differences right to the end. Notably, that in the manga Bakhura melts into sand and Atem doesn't die. While I was sticking pretty close to the manga, even down the dialogue, what appears in the manga is technically a recreation of the past with new players interfering. What we've got here is what I've always thought really happened, without Yami Bakura and the rest of the gang getting in the way.

Stung by the Scorpion: This is a Kemetic proverb, but I have no idea just how old it is. The exact wording goes, "Because we focused on the snake, we missed the scorpion."

Ryou Present Tense: This isn't a typo, it's done quite deliberately. I'm not sure how many have noticed, but times spent in ancient Egypt are always written in present tense. In this chapter, Ryou was also done that way very briefly. For Reasons.

Future Chapters: By my count we have five more chapters to go, an epilogue, and possibly a bonus chapter. The bonus chapter will depend on how pleased I am with the results I come up with. :)

New Edition!: It has been… a long time since I first started writing this story. (Embarrassingly long, considering how relatively few chapters I have to show for it, honestly.) I've had plenty of time to learn and grow as a writer, and also plenty of time to look back at early decisions and cringe over them. I'm toying with the idea of going through and cooking up an updated edition, which would be posted up after this edition is finished and live. Overall, not too much would be changed. Some editing and a continuity error or two - including Ryou's mother still being alive. The biggest change, and why I'm considering this in the first place, would be changing 'Zorc Necrophades' to 'Apep.' For anyone who's read the Nomenclature article by Fictatious, she lays out a pretty good case why the god/demon Apep of Egyptian mythology is a better fit for the role filled by Zorc, and makes a good point for why he ought to be used (that the name Zorc Necrophades is dumb and dumb in the ancient Egyptian context specifically). I agree with the sentiments, and after spending some time buried in books reading up on the Egyptain pantheon, I agree with the conclusion as well. This change will end up being a lot more involved, including a complete overhaul of the prologue and lots of fixes throughout the story.

As I said, I'm still toying with the idea. This edition will remain available regardless, and if the new edition is posted, it will only be posted up to Archive of Our Own (AO3). I welcome any thoughts on this either way!

Thanks for reading, everyone! This was the last of my already-prepared chapters, so no schedule for future updates. But we're almost there!