The Return

Disclaimer: Yu-Gi-Oh! belongs to Kazuki Takahashi.

Why is this chapter drastically different from canon? Because the manga wasn't even at the end of Battle City when I first wrote it, which meant that, at that point in time, Ancient Egypt speculations were fair game. Plus, Funimation decided the past occurred 5000 years ago instead of 3000, so this is set in the Old Kingdom instead of the New.
The Sumerian gods that Bakura references can be found in here: www.pantheon.org/.

I learned two things of possible interest while writing this chapter:
1) "Pharaoh" is not an Egyptian word. It's Hebrew. So while the characters will sometimes use "pharaoh" in the modern era, in the past it's just "king."
2) The name "Memphis" is actually the Greek term for ancient Egypt's capital. Its original name was Hikuptah. "Hierakonpolis" is also Greek, but I couldn't find the Egyptian name, so...just ignore the anachronisms. Or, if you're bored, look for them. There are plenty.
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Egyptologists agree that the Second Dynasty was, if not the most uncertain of all ancient Egypt's eras, then still an extremely unknown one. Few artifacts have been found to give clues to the time period, and hardly any of the architecture survives.

This is due to the rampage of the Shadow Games, first founded in the reign of King Djet.

The destruction reached its height, as well as its end, in the reign of King Sekhemib, "Powerful in Heart." What archeologists have found to be curious about Sekhemib is that he was the only ruler to have claimed a 'Seth' name rather than a 'Horus' name.

The widespread belief among the people of ancient Egypt was that the king's heart became so blackened by the Shadow Realm that he was no longer capable of claiming ties with Horus. A smaller amount claim that Sekhemib took a Seth name to indicate his stand in the ongoing religious warring between the Horus and Seth cults in Upper and Lower Egypt. Still fewer say that the king chose Seth as his patron deity to spite a high priest of the temple of Horus, who was also a known player in the Shadow Games.

While all of these claims are feasible, it is unknown which is the truth. It is known, however, that later in his life Sekhemib changed his name to Seth-Peribsen, "Hope of all Hearts." He had a small mud-brick tomb built for himself at Abydos, where no kings had been buried since the end of the First Dynasty, and had his Seth name engraved upon it. He refused to have a grave made at the royal cemetery of Saqqara, and was the only ruler of the Second Dynasty onwards not to be at least ceremoniously buried there. All in all, his actions resembled that of a man repenting his deeds and preparing to carry that repentance to the afterworld.

Seth-Peribsen's death coincided with the sealing of the Shadow Realm. There were no witnesses to the event--all that was found were four bodies, three tablets, and seven items of gold, the last of which carried an order to locked away forever as they contained power too great for the mortal world to hold.

The son of Seth-Peribsen had the former king and high priest buried with all due pomp, while the third corpse--the disowned brother of the priest--was left in the desert. The fourth body was unknown and thus set in a shallow grave befitting fellahin.

Seth-Peribsen, however intentional and sacrificial his death may have been, was not regarded highly for the sins of his ancestors and himself. His grave was plundered and the stelae bearing his name were erased. This was allowed to pass, and may have even been ordered, by his son. But the son was afraid of the Items, and had them buried in the temple to Horus at Hierakonpolis where they were guarded by a chosen scribe, a man who had married the sister of the fallen priest, and his family. Whatever the reasons that the son had to cause him to place the Items in the hands of his father's bitterest rival's kin can only be assumed to be entangled in the religious cult wars. Those whom it concerns believe that he made a wise decision regarding which family to trust; but his intentions are at best confusing to modern scholars, especially when considering the actions he took involving the tablets.

The son was unsure what to do with the tablets that had been left behind. He at last had the royal artists copy them into a section of the reliefs for his father's tomb, which, begun before the king's sudden death, had originally involved the assumed outcome of the challenge--and later, the presumed actions and conclusion of the battle--between the king and priest. The tablets were set then in the tomb, but sadly they were destroyed at the same time Seth-Peribsen's stelae were erased.

The other two men found at the site of the battle were not included in the carvings, and they were soon forgotten, for better or worse.

King Khasekhemuwy, grandson of Seth-Peribsen, scorned his father's actions and after his death had all references to his father destroyed and renamed Sened, "the Afraid."

Khasekhemuwy ascended the throne with the name "The Two Powers are Arisen, the Two Lords are at peace in him"; and he had the symbols for both Seth and Horus carved into his name. The arrogance betrayed in his name was not a coincidence; it is said that Khasekhemuwy had the cursed Items removed from the temple and attempted to reinstate the Shadow Realm.

He failed, and died soon after, for reasons that were never made clear. A few claim that the penitent spirit of Seth-Peribsen destroyed his own flesh and blood in order to keep the threat to Egypt forever ended, but this bears the marks of myth. A lesser known, but slightly more palatable reason is that the family guarding the former king's tablets played a large role in his grandson's death. At the very least, it is clear that two of the Items disappeared at this time. Khasekhemuwy was given the same treatment as his grandfather and buried in a small brick tomb outside the royal cemetery at Abydos, thus ending the Second Dynasty.

King Djoser, the son of Khasekhemuwy's wife Hepena, built the Step Pyramid Complex, thus beginning the era of the Old Kingdom and ushering in the Age of the Pyramids, a time of the greatest art and architecture ancient Egypt would ever see.

In this glory, the small golden Items were lost...until at least one was transferred back to Abydos more than a thousand years afterward. All stories of their locations, and indeed, of their respective owners beyond this point, are vastly contradicting and can only be considered fables.


In the distance, across the level wastes of sand, he spied the oasis. He forced his eyes closed and rubbed harshly at them, to make sure it was not another mirage.

The sight of the Khargeh Oasis did not waver, a small blessing in the hatefulness of the desert around him, and he sent Bau a prayer of thanks. He was finally here. The battle between the priest and the king would take place soon--he had no intention of missing it.

A sandstorm two days earlier had separated him and his companion, though he would not have put it past the man to simply take the two camels that were now missing and leave him to find his own way through the desert. If he survived the trek to the oasis with a single animal, it was well; if not, Ishtar wouldn't mourn him.

He tugged on the reins and continued toward the oasis, his face firmly set in a grimace as the sun blazed upon the sand in an attempt to blind him, despite the malachite smeared around his eyes.

He had met Ishtar while been fleeing Ma'adi, the city of the man he'd been sold out of Lagash to. He was starving, with only a few small coins he had stolen during his escape, still trapped in the town and dodging anyone who might return him. He was able to speak only a few words of the country's language when he found himself in the same small shop where the other was waiting. The Egyptian had immediately stood out, with hair burnt bright by the sun in the same way his own paler skin made him easily noticeable. He had tried to hide his color with dirt, but it was a meager disguise.

He had moved slowly through the shop, looking for a place to rest unnoticed until the dark fell, when a hand lazily reached out and grabbed his arm.

The man spoke something in Egyptian, indicating the space next to him. He eyed the man's fine clothes, glared and shook his head. "No."

The man's expression never wavered, and he spoke again. This time, he recognized the word 'slave.'

Keeping his expression as neutral as he could, he repeated his first response and pulled on his arm.

The Egyptian's grip was firm--he couldn't break away without potentially making a scene, which was something he would not risk. Even though the only other people in the place were another customer and the owner himself, he couldn't afford to be known for a runaway slave and sent back to his master. He'd be damned to the Egyptians' false gods if he didn't escape the city, at least. With a look of hatred, he turned and leaned against the wall, folding his arms.

The man looked down at his fingers, and he realized that some of the dirt he wore had come off. He watched warily as the Egyptian brushed his hand on his leg. The man looked up at him and spoke again.

He didn't recognize any more words, but noted that the tone was that of one raised in wealth. Not the type who needed to take the risk of catching a slave just for the reward.

Still, the man was a new threat, and he had tensed his muscles and was waiting for the first chance to spring for the door. But the Egyptian flashed him a warning look and spoke again, his voice threatening this time. He made out the word 'soldiers' within the other unrecognizable sounds.

At that he was ready to run, spectacle or no, but the hand flashed out again and caught him in that same brutal grip. He was already weary from lack of food and sleep, not to mention water, and as he jerked his arm futilely he realized with deep and bitter anger that he did not have the strength to escape.

More of the dirt smeared away and the Egyptian studied his arm with interest, saying something quietly. He didn't respond to that either, so the man looked up and spoke again, this time in Sumerian. "So, where were you sold from?"

He blinked, then glared at the stranger who'd uncovered him so easily. Rather than give the man the satisfaction of admitting he was correct, he turned away.

The Egyptian let go of his arm and instead caught his jaw, forcing his gaze back. "Answer me."

He wrenched his head out of the man's grasp. "No," he growled in his own language and turned away again, judging the distance to the door and the likelihood of reaching it and finding a new place to hide before the Egyptian caught him.

The man grinned at that, something disturbing in his gaze. Then he let go and reached into a traveling pouch at his side, removing a piece of bread. "Would you care for some food?" the Egyptian asked, holding it out.

He might be starving, but he'd had enough of other's scraps. "No," he said, ignoring the proffered food, "I have eaten."

"A week ago, I would think," the man replied, looking more entertained. "You're a proud one, aren't you?"

His feet and stomach ached, and he wished to be free of this wretched country, free of everything that had bound him. He no plans of going back to Sumer, but rather of attempting to return northwards, to Frankish territory, the people his parents had been sold from. He would not stand out there. But the city seemed to be a maze he would never escape; for three days he had been struggling for the way out. "What do you want?" he demanded, the sound of his nerves fraying clear in his voice.

"Power," the Egyptian answered, causing him to blink. "But that is another matter."

Before them, the other customer in the shop collected and paid for his goods. He straightened, ready to leave as soon as the Egyptian's attention was turned to his errand.

The man straightened. "Come with me," he said, extending a hand.

He didn't move. After a second, the Egyptian reached over and pulled him away from the wall, his grip still harsh. He tried to wrench free again, but when he became aware of the owner watching them he gritted his teeth and was patient.

The man dragged him outside and began walking down the street. Night had been drawing close when he had gone inside, so it was nearly dark now. Only faint traces of the sun's dying light could give him an idea of where he was being taken.

"What are you doing?" he demanded.

"Quiet," the man answered.

He bared his teeth and yanked hard on his arm, succeeding only in hurting himself and slowing the other man for a brief amount of time. He was pulled around a corner, and in the dusk he could see that they had drawn close to the other man from the shop. After a few more steps, the Egyptian let go of his arm, and the next thing he saw was a flash of paleness in the gloom.

The stranger collapsed to his knees and sank to the ground, a choking noise tearing from his throat. The burial pottery he had bought at the store shattered on the earth around him.

He stood there, staring in surprise. The Egyptian took his hand and put the flint knife in it, then pushed him down next to the corpse. "Stab him."

He twisted his head to glare at the other man's dim features. "Are you mad? No!" he growled, dropping the knife.

"You're starving, penniless, and your skin marks you an outsider. I can change the first two," the Egyptian said, holding up the man's purse, "but first you have to prove yourself."

He clenched his jaw. "I've come this far," he said, not looking at the body beside him. "I need no one." He grabbed at the knife to attack the Egyptian, but a hand gripped the back of his neck, holding him down.

"If you do not, I'll turn you back over to your master and take the reward for a runaway," the man said lazily, as though it made no difference to him. He let go and poured the contents of the bag into his hand. A gold piece fell onto the ground; there were too many items to all fit in his palm.

He glared down at the body, loathing it and everything and one who had led up to this moment in his life. Then he picked up the knife. What does it matter? he thought to himself. Stab a corpse and have money for a meal. If all Egyptians are this strange, I can escape easily.

Then the body at his knees heaved, a laborious breath of air that spoke of a deep struggle to survive. The man wasn't dead.

He bent closer, and realized that the wound wasn't even deep. The man was obviously wealthy; he could be taken to a healer and saved.

The Egyptian, who had poured all but a handful of the treasure into his own purse, shifted and kicked the man over so he was lying face up on the ground. His glance flicked from the man's pleading gaze to the bronze and stones that sat in the Egyptian's palm, and the promise of being sent back to slavery that was clear in his eyes.

He lifted the knife and slammed it down into the man's chest.

The blade hit something hard and the handle jarred in his grasp. The Egyptian swiftly reached down and covered the man's mouth, stifling his scream.

"You hit bone," the man said, as if talking to a child. "Aim here." He pointed at a spot a little higher on the dying man's chest than where he'd struck, using the fist that still held the wealth.

He raised the knife and drove it into the spot, and the blade slipped in much easier. He watched as blood bubbled up from the wound and slid down to splatter on the dusty, hard-packed earth. The man screamed once more against the Egyptian's palm, then with a choked cry fell silent.

The Egyptian wrenched the knife out and reached over to wipe the blade clean on his wrap, ignoring it when he jerked away. "Take his clothing, yours is worn." Then he dropped the items into his hand, and tossed him the purse and knife.

He slipped the money inside and removed the corpse's garments warily, one hand still on the handle of the blade, never taking his eyes off the man he'd come to assume was mad. He left the body lying naked among the shards of pottery on the ground.

He snatched up the gold piece on the ground when the Egyptian turned his back slightly.

"Who are you?" he asked.

The man looked down at him. "Ishtar."

At that comment, he blinked. It made no sense...this man, named for the vicious goddess of beauty? The sister of Ereshkigal? What...what did it mean?

He glanced back at the corpse behind him, and then looked at the pouch and knife in his hands. He could last a few more days on this wealth, long enough to escape Ma'adi; and when that ran out, the knife could get him more....

He would survive. Erigaligal was aiding him, even if it was through the roundabout way of her sister's namesake.

He hardly trusted the Egyptian, but his goddess was another matter. As the man began to walk away, he chose to follow. When a woman's screaming soon alerted others to the murder, he kept pace as the man burst into a run.

And so it went. They had spent the last three years making their way down the Nile, until at last they arrived at Abydos. He had learned that Ishtar came from a family high in the King's court, and had abandoned his duties to become a thief. The information only affirmed his opinion of Ishtar's insanity, but the Egyptian said his position was little more than an ignominy. He let the matter lie, and at Abydos his life changed yet again. That was where they robbed the tomb of Nynetjer, father of the current king.

As he neared the oasis, the desert sands played on his sight to make it seem as if he had traveled no time at all. He pulled the hood over his face and situated the cowl so no more than his eyes could be seen. Then he reached beneath his robe and pulled out the Millennium Ring.

This was his greatest treasure. He had nearly died for it.

King Nynetjer's tomb at Abydos had just been completed when he and Ishtar arrived at the nearby city. The Egyptian knew the builder from his childhood in the court, and arranged a deal to join the man's gang when they ransacked the grave in order to resell any and all things the king might have buried with him.

When the king died the next season, he was buried with all accorded honor and ritual and one night later he, Ishtar, and three of the builder's gang raided the tomb. They entered as soon as the sun fell and spent much of the night digging into the main shaft to reach the burial chamber. Once they reached it, Ishtar and the three immediately set upon the body, tearing it apart to steal all the jewelry and metals that the king had buried on his person. Ishtar soon abandoned the effort, however, and began to scour the ref thf the chamber. He himself had left the body to the vultures and was going through the jars, searching for metals and stones.

He had discovered it in the farthest corner of the chamber, after breaking a seal bearing curses on any who dared open it. Inside, wrapped in linen finer than that he had ever seen, he caught the glint of metal. At first he had hoped it was silver, the white gold prized more greatly than any other; but instead he found the Ring.

A key to the Shadow games. A key to greater power than he had dreamed of...and at first touch he knew it was meant for him. He wrapped it back in the linen and carried it close to his side, keeping it hidden from Ishtar.

The gang onlyonly partly finished despoiling the king's body before the alarm had risen. Ishtar disappeared as soon as the sound of shouting reached their ears, and he fled up the shaft and ran as far as he could before the sound of stomping feet forced him into hiding. The bulk of the soldiers passed him by, but three broke off to search the room. Two examined the corners away from him, but one was coming too close. He clenched his jaw and lifted the flint knife, gripping his prize tighter.

Then there was the sound of screaming from farther down, and the guards ran toward it. He assumed the other men had been caught; he would have to flee as soon as possible before they could name him.

He waited a heartbeat and then raced for the opening, scrambling up the steep stairs and out into the desert away from the tomb. He took a shallow breath of the fresh air and began to run for the cliffs and the desert wasteland beyond.

He had made it no further than the edge of the steps when his legs were cut down from beneath him. He collapsed to the ground with a sharp cry, but kept his grip on the Ring. Twisting his face away from the sand, he looked up to see a soldier standing above him, raising the rod that had sent him down. He struggled to make it to his feet and run, but his legs had taken a harsh strike.

He couldn't get up before the next blow came, angled at his side and cracking something beneath the flesh. He screamed at the pain before forcing his mouth closed. He swore not to cry out under the next strike the guard was aiming at his shoulder, and continued his attempt to flee before it could fall.

Yet it didn't. The guard made a gurgling noise, and dropped the rod before collapsing next to it. When he looked back, Ishtar stood there on the steps behind him, holding a dripping knind wnd wearing a bloodied soldier's garb. Then the Egyptian smirked, turned, and began running, leaving him to catch up.

He did. He ran until he could remember only pain, and then he clenched his fist around his treasure until one of the spikes cut his palm and ran further.

At last they were far away from the tomb, having raced for so long that Utu was once more lighting the world, and the Nile was only a dark ribbon in the dusty waste of the sands.

When they finally stopped, Ishtar bent over, cursing the guards' interruption between gasps of air. He simply let his legs collapse beneath him and sat on the hard-packed sand of the cliff, staring blankly at civilization far below.

"At least you succeeded," Ishtar said after he'd caught his breath. "What do you have?"

"It isn't for sale," he answered.

Ishtar gave him an irritated look. "It's all for sale. It has no use otherwise."

"This is mine," he said, undoing the cloth and draping the smooth cord of the Ring over his neck. The heavy weight of it thudded against his chest as he stood up and faced Ishtar, causing the pain to flare hotter in his side, but he did not let his face show any trace of weakness.

Ishtar's eyes widened at the sight of the Millennium Ring, the gold beginning to reflect the first rays of the sun. He knew that this had been the Egyptian's silent purpose in raiding the king's tomb--Ishtar craved the power wielded by those who played the Shadow games.

He would never give this over alive. His fist tightened around the knife.

Ishtar's face was amused now, but his eyes were unreadable as they traveled from his chest to his face. "Very well," the Egyptian said.

He blinked, distrusting the ease with which he'd won.

"There are others," Ishtar finished, coming close to reading his mind again. Then the man had turned and walked along the cliffs to search for a place to make a rough camp. He wrapped the linen over his chest and shoulders so it would conceal the Ring and followed.

Not long after that, he had studied the Ring and began to sneak into the Shadow Games, learning how to play and what the powers of the other Items were, until the day came that he entered with his success in gaining the Ring giving him the right to be there.

Ishtar had no such right. He had no idea what the Egyptian was planning in order to survive trespassing, but it was no concern of his. Ishtar didn't need his interest; the man would live or die.

He let his hand brush over the Ring one last time as he walked forward. His only regret at raiding the tomb was that he would never be able to see the White Wall of Hikuptah again, for only a fool would enter the royal city after raiding a king's tomb. Peribsen was searching for him in all the corners of Egypt, and he had been forced to keep the Ring hidden for the entirety of the Akhet season now. Ishtar had mocked him once he learned his thought, but the Egyptian understood nothing. Life in Egypt was simple due to the cycle of the Nile, making its people sedate--the opposite of Sumer, where life had to be conquered from the wild. He regretted being unable to see the Wall again because he respected anything man carved out in defiance of nature.

As he finally reached the oasis, he secured and left the animal and walked towards the lone figure standing there. Gold flashed in the sunlight at his waist, indicating it was the priest. Understandable--Hierakonpolis was the closest city to Khargeh Oasis. As he had learned, the oasis was the place for the Shadow games and had been originally chosen due to its proximity to Thinis, the earliest capital of Egypt before that honor was moved to Hikuptah.

The man was an interesting creature to him. Many argued that the Higiestiest to Horus had no right playing in the Shadow games, but only in whispers--they had no desire to face his cold wrath. It was clear that he had become tainted, just like all who dealt in the Realm. His challenge to the King had been a sign none could miss.

He felt mild surprise when he saw Ishtar's eyes beneath the priest's robe as he approached. So that was how it was to be--Ishtar had finally succeeded in getting his entrance. He had been expecting this ever since thrst rst day at Abydos…though he did not know how the king would react when he found his adversary had already been removed.

He stood near the Egyptian, gazing out into the sandy land surrounding them for a sign of the latecomer. "You should pull your hood lower; your hair can be seen."

Ishtar did as he said, replying, "You always did know the better ways of hiding. Not that you need to any longer." He could hear the Egyptian's lips curling in that mocking mirth he'd put up with for too long. "The sun has burnt your fair skin quite dark by now."

He turned and glared. "I'm not some stray mongrel you took in off the streets and cleaned," he said in a low voice.

Ishtar reached and brushed a strand of his hair out into the sunlight before he could step back, fingers trailing over the scar beneath his eye that the man had forced him to make--one of the many little tests to prove he was strong enough to be Ishtar's companion. "No, Kur," he murmured, "you're my bradaj."

The hatred was plain on his face as he pushed his hair back into the safety of the hood and turned away again. In the distance, a dark spot on the bright sand indicated another's approach. The rays of the sun seemed to shimmer around the figure, caressing and eschewing him at once. It could only be the King.

Rumor had it that Seth-Peribsen had performed the soul-refreshing heb-sed ritual only days ago, though it was only meant to be performed after a reign of thirty years and the man's age was barely half that, his rule even less. So, he used the Ring to focus across the distance, searching for any trace of a man strengthened by his deities as the king approached.

He found only the same boyish face, turned sharp and angular by his duties. Peribsen's gaze was turned inward, focused on matters unknown, and he paid little attention to the two waiting for him. Or to the adversary limping by his side.

"You failed to kill him," he informed Ishtar.

"Purposely," the man answered. "I want him to see this."

He cast the Egyptian a sharp glance. The man seemed not to care that the priest was still powerful even without the Rod. That callousness will be his downfall one of these days....

If Ishtar had expected any reaction from the priest, however, he was sorely disappointed. The man walked past him with a straight back, revealing nothing in his cold features.

When the blinding desert sun caught the gold of his Ring, Seth-Peribsen's eyes found his as always. The king hated him for desecrating his father's tomb, and for then being so bold as to use the Item against him. Today, though, the look caused him to straighten involuntarily. In the gaze he saw the blazing, righteous fury of a god, worthy of the company of Enlil, and he had to force himself not to step back from the king.

Then Seth-Peribsen's focus fell to the Millennium Rod hanging from Ishtar's robe, before turning inward once more; and he was just the young ruler again, not even his own age. Practically a boy.

And still a dangerous adversary. His instincts warned him to be twice as much on guard as usual today. He not only had the new threat of Ishtar to reckon with, but that of the regenerated king as well.

But there was no reason to discredit his own power; he had faith in himself. He had not failed yet. As the sound of chanting began to drift across the still air of the desert, he fell in step behind the king, deliberately mocking his footsteps.

Still, the beginnings of something that he refused to acknowledge as fear began to curl at the back of his mind as he stared at Seth-Peribsen. If he had not considered it cowardice to do so, he would have turned his back on the Games that day.

He should have.

~~~
He woke up from the dream with a jerk, clenching his teeth at the bad memories it had stirred...and chose to take it out on the boy.


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