Chapter Text
A deathly silence fell upon the palace grounds as Malik made his way to the throne room, his wrists tightly bound in rope.
While rumours of the high priestess’ brother fraternising with the Thief King had plagued the adjacent village for moons on end, no one actually believed they were true. Despite seeming aloof and standoffish at first pass, Malik was often described as a burst of sunshine by those who knew him best — bright, fiery, and somewhat exhausting. Studious to a fault, he had an almost insatiable thirst for knowledge and truth, virtuous qualities that would, ironically, lead to his demise.
Ironic. That seemed to be the running theme of his situation. If he’d simply spurned the injured thief and remained blind to the kingdom’s blood soaked past, he would have avoided this fate altogether, alive in blissful ignorance.
-
"Fine, don't drink!" Malik slammed the bowl onto the ground in his frustration. "You can drop dead for all I care!"
The man remained silent, watching the bowl's precious contents seep into the dry sand. He licked his lips and fixed Malik with a cold glare. "Why are you helping me?"
Malik raised an eyebrow, genuinely confused. "Because I want to?"
"...You know who I am, right?"
"Should I?"
To his surprise, the man barked a guttural laugh, agitating his wound even more. "So, what? You're helping me out of the ‘goodness’ of your heart? No strings attached?"
"You're hurt. And filthy," Malik said, wrinkling his nose. His gaze lingered on the weeping gash ripped into the man's side, its edges crusted with dirt. "Plus, you're getting blood all over this poor shop’s entrance. Come with me; I have clean water and honey—"
The man opened his mouth to interrupt, but swayed worryingly the moment he tried to move. Without thinking, Malik reached out to steady the stubborn idiot before he fell flat on his face.
"Stop arguing with me already!" Malik insisted, keeping a tight grip on his shoulders.
The man growled, but made no attempt to shrug him off. "You realise that if anyone from the palace finds out about this, it'll be your heart on the scale, not mine."
“Why would they care about me helping a thief?”
A scoff. “You really have no idea, do you?”
"Would it soothe your ego if I asked for your signature later? Not that you'd know how to write it."
"Shut it, brat."
-
“Watch that broken tile,” the guard behind him muttered, nodding to the spot in question. “The edges are sharp.”
Malik frowned. Even when saddled with the accusation of treason, the men escorting him held a solemn reverence they reserved solely for nobility. It was slightly irritating, to be honest. After all, he was supposedly helping someone who slaughtered a high priest in cold blood and was working to raze the entire kingdom to the ground, starting with its young king. Wouldn’t that make him a criminal?
The throne room slowly came into view, illuminated by ribbons of moonlight rippling through the sandstone columns. Although he’d been there countless times, Malik never realised how intimidating it could be until that very moment. Then again, even an empty stable could strike fear into someone’s heart if they knew it was where they’d take their last breath.
Atem sat in the centre of the room, his throne elevated on a short platform. Four priests and a lone priestess stood on either side of him, the wide gap to his left impossible to ignore. Malik bit the inside of his cheek, trying his best to remain unbothered.
Mahad had been his teacher too, once upon a time.
The guards lowered their heads and quietly exited the room, leaving Malik standing alone in his awkward defiance. Each member of the pharaoh's court held a golden item crafted from the flesh and bone of Bakura's kin. There was a time when Malik had genuinely thought the Millennium Items beautiful — now, the mere sight of them made his stomach churn.
-
It didn't take long for Malik to realise the world beyond his sheltered household was as terrible as it was vast. His definition of 'outside' had only ever applied to the lush grounds of his family's estate, so discovering that a significant portion of the kingdom lacked the simple luxury of water was sobering, to say the least.
However, not even Bakura's guided 'tours' of the seedier parts of town could prepare him for their kingdom’s ugliest secret.
“Believe it or not, this place was even busier than the marketplace," Bakura said, climbing on top of a crumbling wall after testing its integrity. He took a moment to survey the ruins of his village, his fringe casting a dark shadow over his face. “Course, it’s not much to look at now.”
The Thief King sighed, rubbing the back of his neck before kneeling down and offering his hand. Malik took it without hesitation, pausing to marvel at the litany of scars etched into his palm. He wondered if Bakura would ever trust him enough to reveal the story behind each one.
Bakura lifted him with ease, keeping a hand on his lower back while Malik clumsily tried to find his footing. Just as he managed to steady himself, Bakura yanked Malik into his cloak, shielding both of them from a sudden gust of wind. The warmth of his bare chest sent sparks crackling across Malik’s skin.
"The sky burned red on the night they came," Bakura mused, turning his gaze towards the stars once the sand settled. “Everything happened so fast. Women, children — it didn't matter. All of us were just kindling for the flames."
"I'm sorry," Malik said quietly, his small voice drowning in the desert winds.
Bakura snorted, looking down at him in amusement. "For what?"
"This? …Everything?"
"Your family wasn't involved."
"They didn't do anything to stop it from happening either," he argued. "Obviously Isis hadn't been appointed yet, but my father—"
"Isis? Remind me again," Bakura said, grabbing Malik's chin. "She's the priestess who holds the Necklace?"
Malik nodded, praying the next sound he heard wouldn't be the snap of his own neck.
“...I know you must adore her,” Bakura mumbled, his rough fingers tracing the marks painted beneath Malik’s eyes. “But part of me wonders whether your dear sister knows that she’s wearing mine around her neck.”
-
"Good evening," Atem said, his tone clipped.
"I'm not sure how good it is," Malik replied, attempting to gesture at his current predicament without the use of his hands.
The pharaoh’s stoic facade faltered. “O-Oh.”
“Yeah.”
“Then, I apologise for the…inconvenience?”
“As you should,” Malik said with a huff. “Your men barged into my father’s home completely unannounced, damaged a number of valuable scrolls, and let all our cats loose!”
“Unannounced?” Atem looked to the priestess in confusion. “Hadn’t you informed—”
“Forgive me for interrupting,” Set said through clenched teeth, struggling to hide his annoyance. “However I’d like to remind everyone that several credible informants have reported seeing tonight’s ‘guest’ rubbing elbows with the Thief King.” He frowned. “Otherwise known as that delusional rogue who recently attacked the palace and murdered a high priest.”
“Delusional?” Malik repeated, meeting Set’s steely gaze. “Aren’t you supposed to be impartial?”
"Do you honestly believe his desire to eradicate countless lives comes from a place of sanity?"
Malik forced out a humourless laugh. “You’re asking me? Because I assure you there’s someone else here who’d be better equipped to answer that question.”
Perhaps it was a mixture of adrenaline and wishful thinking, but Malik could have sworn he saw the one-eyed priest flinch.
“Don’t change the subject.” Set hissed. “Do you not understand the severity of these accusations? The punishment you face if they’re proven true?”
Malik tilted his head, the moonlight glinting against his earrings. “Execution, if I’m not mistaken.”
“So you haven’t completely lost your mind.”
“Mm, debatable. I’ve just sat through enough of these ‘trials’ to know what to expect.”
Set snorted. "And yet you’re still so flippant. I assume your sis—” He paused, glancing at the woman to his left and clicking his tongue. “Excuse me. I assume the high priestess has informed you of a potential alternative?”
“...She has. My life in exchange for everything I know about the Thief King; his plans, affiliations, whereabouts…and—” Malik swallowed the lump that had quickly formed in his throat. “Some nonsense about reaffirming my loyalty to the kingdom, or whatever.”
“Is that all?”
“She also wanted me to promise that I wouldn’t leave home until he’s been ‘dealt with.’”
“A spattering of useless information and temporary house arrest; how generous of her,” Set said stiffly, crossing his arms. “I hope you know the consequences of petty theft are harsher than what she’s proposed.”
“And? How is that my fault?”
“Malik,” his sister warned, prompting Set to redirect his ire.
“Haven’t you coddled him enough?” he asked, sending her a withering glare. “While we're all here, do you have any other treasonous siblings we should be aware of?"
“Taunt me all you want," Isis replied coolly. "I will not allow anyone to hold my brother responsible for another man's sins."
"Sins your brother willingly indulged."
"You have no proof."
"Besides the fact that he hasn't shown a shred of remorse?"
"Again, you have no proof."
Malik groaned. Their 'civil’ disagreement was one finger point away from turning into an all-out brawl.
In truth, all of this was a complete waste of breath. He'd accepted the inevitable outcome of his decisions the moment he began to sympathise with the Thief King. Every time Malik tried to find fault in Bakura's radical stance, he found himself falling deeper in love — the man had almost become something of an obsession.
But it wasn't just Bakura himself that stole Malik's heart; he was also enamoured with the thief's dirty brand of justice against those who stood against him. The way he spoke so passionately about his desire for retribution against the monsters responsible for Kul Elna’s destruction sparked something within Malik that he couldn't describe. In his eyes, the Thief King wasn't a villain at all.
He was a hero.
"Can the two of you please shut up? You're giving me a headache," Malik snapped, never one to forget his manners. "I wasn't going to accept the alternative punishment anyway." He took a deep breath and stepped forward, addressing the young pharaoh directly. "It's true. All of it. I've been leaking information to the Thief King."
"You've what?!"
Set looked like he was about to leap down and wring his neck, however Isis shoved him aside before he could make any attempt.
"You didn't know," she said, her voice trembling. "You didn't know what you were doing. Tell them."
Malik sighed. "Isis—"
She shook her head, her lips pressed into a thin line. "Tell them you didn't know."
"I did know."
"No, you didn't!" Isis cried. "Tell them that he tricked you, o-or threatened you! You couldn't have— I refuse to believe my baby brother would willingly—"
“I wouldn't have met your requirements anyway," Malik said, shocking her into silence. "See, I’ve already chosen a king to swear my life to.” He raised his head, smiling ruefully as tears pooled near the corners of his eyes. “And unfortunately, it isn’t the one sitting on that throne.”
-
Bakura already has the feeling that something is wrong.
He thinks it as he sneaks past the guards.
He thinks it as he enters Malik's room through the window.
And he knows it when he finds Malik's room empty and devastated.
-
It didn’t take long for Bakura to hear the rumors.
The younger brother of high priestess Isis is said to have been captured for treason against the Pharaoh himself. An offense for which the boy faces execution.
Bakura always knew that their relationship was a risk. That it probably would not end well. They danced on the precipice between life and death, and yet they never stopped. Nor do they want to, nor could they.
He warned Malik. More than once. But the boy was stubborn, did not listen to him. Said that he would rather die than accept his fate. No fear of the god’s judgement. That he had no regrets.
…That he loves him.
The sky is black, and not even the moon shines. Only the torches light up the stony path in front of him.
Bakura’s footsteps echo on the walls, breaking the silence of the night.
The men Bakura has gathered around him follow him with drawn weapons in their hands. Thieves, liars, outcasts, mercenaries. The kind of people the average citizen would avoid. The kind of people who loathe the royal crown almost as much as he does.
Another room appears before him.
His steps become slower until he finally stops. His breathing is heavy, shoulders rise and fall.
The blood on the floor has almost dried.
Bakura hears the whispering of the men behind him, but pays no attention to it.
Without noticing it, he hesitantly starts moving forward again, stumbling.
One of his men calls out to him, but Bakura doesn't understand the words, can't hear them.
… He doesn’t want to.
His mind is dull, still unable to process what he sees before him.
Malik is lying motionless on the ground. He looks as if he is asleep. His features are relaxed. Peaceful. A faint smile on his lips.
"...Malik..." Bakura whispers as he drops to his knees. The body is limp in his arms. Slowly, he reaches for Malik's hand and presses it against his own tear-streaked cheek.
An agonized sound escapes from the depths of his throat as reality hits him. And every pitiful attempt to suppress the thoughts miserably fail.
His vision blurs as the memories break over him like a roaring wave, drowning him.
And it is the moment when he realizes, he will never hear the sound of his voice gain. Never sees his smile again. Never feels his soft lips on his own again. Never sense the warmth of his body again.
-
Moonlight reflected in golden hair.
Rough hands run over Malik's slim silhouette, and the touch caused him to whisper Bakura's name.
It's a sight that burned into Bakura's memory.
He felt Malik's arms around his shoulders, supporting himself against him, his warm breath hitting against his ear.
"’Kura...it feels so good...keep going," Malik whispered, barely hearable and yet it sent a shiver across Bakura's skin.
Body against body, skin against skin.
Bakura's grip tightened around Malik's waist, helping him keep the rhythm, and it's not long before Malik threw his head into his neck with a loud moan. And every time he did, he looked so beautiful.
…So fucking beautiful.
Bakura felt his heart beating fast next to his own and Malik's chest rising and falling heavily.
"...You're beautiful."
"What did you say...?" Malik's big, purple eyes looked at him.
Young. Curious. Innocent. Naive.
"You heard me."
And it's the expression on his face that made it impossible for Bakura to suppress a grin as he cupped Malik's face.
The kiss that followed was passionate. Intense. Intimate. Loving.
Malik pulled back. A smile curled his lips.
"I did... but maybe I want to hear it again, my King?"
-
Bakura doesn't know how long he holds Malik's body pressed against his chest. It could be minutes. Hours. Any sense of time slips through his hands like sand.
Gently he kisses his lover's forehead, lingers for a few moments. "...We will meet again soon, my love," he murmurs. "...They will regret what they have done to you. Please stay with me."
Malik's hand slowly falls from his cheek as he presses it back to his chest over his heart.
The rage that fills his chest and wraps around his lungs like an infernal snake of grief is simply indescribable. The darkness in his heart, fed to the point of immeasurable grief, anger and hatred grows. It reaches his entire being. His eyes, reddened with sadness and rage, flash as a silent vow settles in his chest.
With Malik's death, not only his last remorse is buried. His last morals and his last warmth. With him, his mercy is buried as well.
The Pharaoh will pay for this.
Everyone is guilty.
They all have to die.
-
All that remains is fire and ashes.
Smoke impedes his vision, his lungs ache.
Desperate, frightened cries break through the once silent night.
Bakura’s breathing is heavy, and he should barely be able to move due to his own severe injuries, but he feels no pain.
Everything is numb. Dull. He feels nothing.
But no matter how many guards he has already killed, it doesn't get him the justice he wants.
Not while those who passed judgment on Malik are still alive.
Bakura pulls out his dagger from another guard's body and blood drips onto the floor.
The guard gasps in pain as he sinks to his knees but the sight leaves Bakura's soul untouched.
With a cold stare, Bakura looks down at him. The guard knows he will die. And yet he begs him to spare his life.
A chance Bakura is not willing to give. Just as little as Malik had the chance to live.
No mercy. For no one.
He turns away. The sound of his footsteps is drowned out by horrible sounding gurgling noises, knowing that the guard soon will choke on his own blood in excruciating pain.
Bakura looks up and takes a deep breath.
The night has cleared up and while Bakura looks at the countless stars in the stars, his jaw clenches. He will never forget how Malik told him that he loved the stars. He remembers the expression on his face. The soft smile. The glowing in his eyes. Their first kiss that followed after that.
He made sure Malik's body was safe. No one would be able to harm him anymore. Once he had finally taken his vengeance, he would bury him. In a peaceful place. In a place where Malik could see the stars every night.
Bakura's eyes narrow to slits and his grip tightens around the dagger.
The moment of vengeance is approaching.
-
"Why did you stop me!?"
"He didn't do anything to you!”
"...To whom does your loyalty belong, Malik!?"
Bakura would never forgot how Malik stared at him. But at that moment, he didn't understand it. With a huff, he turned his back on Malik.
"This has nothing to do with loyalty, Bakura! That man was innocent! I am on your side, I already told you that more than once. I understand your anger and that you want to take vengeance, but-”
"Liar!"
He can't see Malik’s purple eyes widened in shock. The hurt expression in Malik's face. How Malik hold back his tears. He heart him clear his throat.
"...Don't you think if I were a liar you'd be dead by now?"
Bakura's hands clenched into fists instead of answering him. The feeling in his chest hurted. A feeling he has never felt before. A feeling he didn't know how to deal with.
"...I will be back soon. Maybe you'll get your common sense back in the meantime," he heared Malik say before he turned to him. He watched as Malik took his cloak and put it around his shoulders. After all, Malik’s still a royal. The pain in Bakura's chest got stronger but he decided to put on his usual grin.
"Not the luxury you're used to, eh? Do you miss your golden cage?"
Malik looked at him, his brows furrowed.
"I have no intention of betraying you, if that's what you're saying."
"...We will see about that."
Bakura saw how Malik's jaw tightens. He wanted to say something, but he held back. Instead, he turned away and left without looking back.
And if Bakura had known that this would be the last time they would see each other, he would have stopped him. He would have pulled him close. Would have kissed him. Would have told him he loved him. Would never have let him go.
...But he didn't know, and that's how their story began to take its tragic course.
-
The blood loss is taking its toll.
Bakura's legs tremble, walking becomes more difficult, his vision is blurred. He knows that his wounds are too severe and that his own heart will soon be weighed against the feather of Ma'at.
But not now. Not until his vengeance is complete.
The quiet voice in his head gets louder. Urges him to continue. To destroy. To kill.
Taking a deep breath, he enters the throne room. What usually glitters in gold and wealth is deserted.
His vision begins to blur again. He leans against the wall to keep from falling and wipes the blood from his chin with the back of his hand.
"Well, look who we've got here. The great Thief King."
The mocking voice causes Bakura to narrow his eyes, trying to refocus his blurred vision. The voice sounds familiar to him and after a few seconds he recognizes him.
…Set.
Ignoring the pain in his body, Bakura pushes himself off the wall. Puts on his usual grin.
"Nice of you to spare me the search for you. Tell me where the Pharaoh is, then I might be merciful and grant you a quick death."
To Bakura's surprise, Set begins to laugh.
"Oh? You won't survive much longer the way you look. The goddess Ammit is already waiting to devour your heart."
Bakura’s jaw tightens as he sees the golden object in his hand. The rod.
"It will be long enough to kill you, the Priests and the Pharaoh as well. You have taken everything from me. My family. My village. Him . And today the day has come when you will pay for what you have done."
The expression that appears on Set's face is not what Bakura expected. It shows confusion. As if he doesn't know what he's talking about. But that's impossible. He must know…!
But as quickly as the confusion appeared on Set's face, just as fast it disappears again. He snorts.
"' Him '? You mean Malik, don't you? He was actually an intelligent boy, a lot of potential. And yet stupid enough to fall for you. Tell me, how did you mess up the stupid boys head to follow your insane ideologies?"
Bakura feels the anger instantly flare up inside him. He stares at Set with hatred and contempt, the dark voice in his head growing even louder, hurting in his ears.
"Shut the fuck up! Don't you dare talk about him!"
He sees Set cross his arms in front of his chest and grin at him. He knows that he has hit a sore spot.
"Do you realize that it is your fault that young Ishtar is dead, stupid Thief? If you had not brainwashed him, he would still be alive today."
Bakura should know better. He is aware of it, but still he can't do anything about the fact that his body starts to tremble. The darkness inside him continues to spread. Begins to absorb his soul.
Set looks down at the rod in his hand with a neutral expression before turning his gaze back to Bakura.
"Too bad I had to slit his throat."
"You…! You did-"
The pain in his head becomes almost unbearable. It feels as if it would tear him apart from the inside. Without noticing, he drops the dagger. His hand trembles uncontrollably.
He would not hear his own scream, because every part of his own consciousness is overshadowed by darkness.
And it is the moment when Zorc takes over and Bakura forgets himself. Forgets every precious memory he swore to guard forever. Forgets every memory that is not filled with hate.
A thief started a war. That night Thebes is almost completely destroyed. The number of deaths is endless. The wrath of the gods is immeasurable. Nothing would ever be the same again.
It is the end of the Thief King.
But no one knows at this point that the remnants of Bakura's soul clings to life, refusing to pass into the Duat and accept death.
It would take several millennia before he would have a body again.
But the day would come.
And the clock begins to tick.