Pharaoh and the Thief

Warning: Violence and language
Author’s Note: This chapter’s pretty intense. But don’t worry it gets better! Next chapter in a week unless I get an outrageous amount of reviews, then I’ll put it up sooner. Enjoy!

Pharaoh and the Thief

Chapter 2

Bakura awoke to a splitting headache. He slowly opened his eyes to a blurry cell. Bakura groaned and tried to sit up. He wobbled a bit, but finally managed to steady himself enough so that he could let go of the wall. He tentatively touched the back of his head where the pain was emanating from. He winced as his fingers found a gash sealed with dried blood. More blood had dried in his hair, making it stick together uncomfortably. The thief struggled and surveyed his surroundings. He seemed to be in a tiny dirty cell and was lying on a stained mattress in the corner.

Why was he here this time, Bakura wondered. Oh yeah, he remembered, scowling bitterly. All because of that annoying man in the alley who had some strange effect on Bakura’s conscious. Bakura stood up and steadied himself against the wall as the room swam again. When everything came back into focus and Bakura didn’t feel like he was going to throw up from the dizziness, he wandered over to the bars stretching across the only part of his cell without a wall. He hooked his arms through them and leaned his forehead against the cool metal. He scanned the dank hallway of cells and saw a guard at the end of the corridor, standing by what seemed to be the only door.

“Hey,” Bakura yelled in his general direction. The guard glanced up at him. “Mind telling me when you’re going to let me out?” Bakura said, grinning cockily. “I’ve got things to do, places to go, can’t be sittin’ around in here all day, as fun as it is.” The guard strolled purposefully towards him, and for a wild second, Bakura thought he was actually going to unlock his cell, then a wooden club the guard was carrying came down sharply on Bakura’s hands hanging between the bars, smashing them against the metal.

“Fucking son of Osiris!” Bakura hissed, as he pulled his hands back in sharply and sunk to the floor with his back against the wall. He inspected his fingers in his lap. They were already turning black and purple, and from the twisted angle of a few of them, some had been broken. “What the hell was that for you dumb fuck?” Bakura demanded of the guard. The guard said nothing, only grinned maliciously at him, then returned to his post at the door.

Bakura growled at his retreating back and gingerly crawled over to the mattress. He decided that as soon as he escaped, that was the first man he would kill. As soon as the sharp pain retreated to a dull throbbing, Bakura sank back into uneasy sleep.

XxXxXxXxXxX

Atem was in his room, reading over reports from his council members when a faint knock came from his door.

“Enter,” Atem replied, not looking up as Akhenden swept into the room, bowing deeply as he approached the pharaoh.

“I trust you are well?” he asked in greeting.

The young pharaoh nodded and put the reports away with a sigh. “I am, it’s just been a tedious evening.”

The priest smiled in sympathy. “I know it is tiresome work, my pharaoh, and I understand you wan to...amuse yourself,” the older man began, “but I really wish you would re-think these trips to the city.”

The pharaoh sighed, used to this lecture. “I am the pharaoh; I don’t see why I shouldn’t be able to walk in my own city.”

“Oh course, pharaoh,” Akhenden replied graciously, “but my concern is for your safety. There are all manner of villains in the city, and with out a guard at the very least, you could easily be hurt or assassinated. You’re completely exposed to the dregs of society. I mean, even today we caught that insane thief. Think what could have happened had you run into him.”

“What thief?” the pharaoh inquired, interest piqued.

Disgust flashed across Akhenden’s features. “A strange white-haired man. He was caught stealing a pendant from a jewelry merchant.”

“Really?” Atem asked, “I thought he has escaped and that was what caused the big ruckus in the market today.”

“Well initially, yes,” the priest responded, “but the fool returned to the same tent, probably in attempt to steal more from the poor merchant. Luckily he didn’t have the chance by the time our men caught him. All he had on him was the piece he’d stolen in the first place.”

Atem chewed his lip thoughtfully. “Where is he now?”

“In the dungeons of course,” came the reply. “Where all that kind of scum goes to get the punishment they deserve.”

XxXxXxXxXxX

Bakura’s eyes fluttered open to the sound of a heavy door being unlocked. He thought about getting up to see what all the commotion was about, but a sharp pain shot through his fingers, as he accidentally brushed them against the mattress and the idea was quickly forgotten.

He hissed at the pain and curled his legs up on the mattress, tucking his injured hands in close to his body. He didn’t bother looking up as the sound of scraping metal filled the corridor, and the door to his cell was pulled open.

“What’s this one in for?” inquired a man as Bakura pointedly ignored them.

“Theft,” another said in a malicious voice.

Suddenly harsh hands wrapped around his upper arm and jerked him to his feet. Bakura was not prepared for this and stumbled as he tried to get his feet beneath him, his hand knocking into the wall. Bakura hissed out a string of curses and tried to wrench himself from the guard’s grasp unsuccessfully.

“Nice work on the fingers,” the guard holding him said to the other man, whom Bakura recognized as the guard who had smashed his fingers. He pulled himself upright, looking at the guard with angry red eyes and spat in his face.

The guard yelled in outrage and backhanded him viciously across the face. Bakura gasped as pain spread in waves over his face. That was going to leave a nasty mark, he thought bitterly as the guards pulled him out of the cell and down the corridor. His vision was blurred again and the motion was making his head spin.

They must have reached their destination because Bakura was then unceremoniously dropped on the floor in some sort of uninviting chamber. He looked around to see all manner of nasty things hanging from the walls. Lovely, Bakura thought, they’re going to torture me now.

“Stand up,” one of the guards said to him coldly. The thief ignored him and lay on the ground, trying to make the throbbing in his face stop.

“I said stand up!” the guard yelled at him, kicking him hard in the stomach. Bakura keeled over in pain, gasping for air that wouldn’t seem to go into his lungs.

I wish I’d eaten more, Bakura thought bitterly, then I could have vomited on their shoes.

Something closed around one of his injured hands and squeezed, yanking him upward. Bakura scrambled to his feet with a cry of pain.

“You always need force with this kind,” the guard who had a grip on his injured hand said, “All they understand is pain.”

Through the bleary haze of pain, Bakura managed to stand on his own, breathing heavily. When he opened his eyes to see the two men staring at him like cats stare at the mouse they are toying with.

“See,” the guard said to his companion. “All you got to do is slap ‘em around a bit and they behave.”

Bakura focused his red eyes on the guard who had just spoken, watching them from beneath the fringe of white hair that fell in his face.

“Come on miscreant,” the guard said, grabbing Bakura’s arm once more. “We’re not done with you yet.”

Bakura thrust his knee into the man’s groin with all the strength he could muster, eyes flashing angrily. The man immediately let go and fell to the ground, as did Bakura when the other guard’s fist made solid contact with his face.

His face felt like it was on fire as he lay on the dirt covered floor. He could feel warm blood dripping from his nose and pooling on the ground beneath him. He couldn’t help it, he laughed. Insane wonderfully freeing laughter. Whatever they dished out now was worth the look of pure agonizing shock on the guard’s face as Bakura’s knee had probably prevented the man from ever having children.

The uninjured guard was helping his comrade stand. When he was finally on his feet, both of them just stared at the insane man laughing merrily and dripping blood all over the floor.

“You think that’s funny do you?” the assaulted man screamed at him, burying a hand in the thief’s white hair and yanking it back cruelly so that Bakura had to look at him.

“You’re going to pay for that, scum,” the guard whispered viciously.

Bakura laughed at him. “You mean I haven’t already?”

The guard threw him back to the ground angrily and kicked him again, but before Bakura even had a chance to recover, the other guard pulled him up and threw him against a wall. Bakura had the good sense not to stop himself with his hands, but the result was his head smacking into the sharp brick, causing the bruises there to roar again with pain. He felt himself being pulled from the wall and shoved against some sort of frame made from roughly hewn wood. His robe was ripped off of his body, and his arms were stretched across the frame and secured. The blinding pain in his head was beginning to clear as the first strike of the whip cut across his flesh.

Bakura’s body jerked forward by the force of it, but he forced himself not to utter a sound. Another lash came and Bakura felt it tear through his skin, just as the previous had done. He grit his teeth together to keep himself from crying out as each stroke landed.

The men laughed as they continued to bring the whip down in resounding cracks across his back. Soon Bakura could feel the warm blood trickling down his back and soaking the waist of his trousers, but he’d be damned if he even acknowledge their torture.

After what seemed like hours of carving his flesh from his body, the lashes ceased and Bakura hazily heard one of the guards mutter something about, “doing what they brought him here for.”

The restraints on Bakura’s wrists were loosened and he collapsed to the ground, smartly smacking his head on the wooden frame on the way.

Stars flew across his vision as a hand buried itself in his hair and dragged him to where the other guard was standing. Bakura was having trouble focusing on anything at the moment and didn’t even see the table until he was thrown into it. His arms were stretched across it and the guard’s gleefully cruel voice met his ears. “You won’t have to worry about those broken fingers much longer.”

Bakura tried to focus on the man’s face so he could determine what he meant by that remark. Then he saw a glint of metal in his hand, and his thoughts hazily came together in his head. The punishment for thievery in the capital. They were going to cut off his hands. As soon as this thought crossed Bakura’s mind, he started struggling wildly. He manage to rip one hand out of the guard’s grip and was working on the other one, ignoring the terrible pain shooting up his arms and pounding in his head. He heard the big knife clatter to the floor as the other guard leapt to restrain him, earning another sound smack across his face. Bakura fought through the new white hot burst of pain, trying to kick out at the guard behind him. A hand grasped his wild hair, wrenching his head to an uncomfortable angle as another hand grabbed his free arm and pulled it hard up behind his back. A loud pop told Bakura they had dislocated it. His other arm was once again stretched taunt across the wooden table, which Bakura now noticed with a sickening feeling in his stomach, was covered in the brown stains of dried blood.

Bakura was panicking. He kept trying to struggle, but the guard behind him held him firmly in place as the one pinning his hand to the table leaned over to retrieve the knife from the ground.

Crazed thoughts ran through Bakura’s head as he searched for any means of escape. If he lost his hands, how would he kill the pharaoh? The thought renewed his strength and he wrenched his head forcefully, feeling some of his hair tear from his scalp, but the guard’s grip held. A knee shoved itself into his back and agonizing pain shot through him once more. In his panic, he’d completely forgotten about his abused back.

His back, hands, shoulder, and face all throbbed forcefully with pain and Bakura felt his vision start to go foggy as consciousness was slipping. No! Bakura thought desperately, trying to keep his grip on consciousness, he would not be unconscious for this.

Suddenly a door at the other end of the room was flung open and bright light stung Bakura’s eyes. A figure emerged through the door and said something to the guards restraining him, but Bakura couldn’t make it out as darkness took him.