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Title: Second Chance
Author: Evandar (yamievandar / hikarievandar)
Fandom: YuGiOh!
Rating: R
Pairing: Bakura/Ryou, Yami/Yugi
Genre: Romance/Drama
Warnings: Yaoi, spoilers for the whole series, copious amounts of Egyptian mythology.
Disclaimer: I do not own YuGiOh! and I am making no profit from this story.
Summary: When Yami passes into the afterlife, Bakura's soul is dragged with him. But instead of passing on completely, the gods offer them the chance at a second life.
AN: Setekh = Seth, Heru = Horus, Yinepu = Anubis, Djehuty = Thoth, Auser = Osiris, Auset = Isis and Neb-het = Nephthys. Also, animal skins were considered to be the clothing of the very low classes in Ancient Egypt. Most people wore linen; only the lowest of the low wore stuff like wool and leather, which is why I have Bakura wearing them.
He followed the Pharaoh, who was following Heru, through the halls of Duat and into a huge chamber. Painted walls and pillars soared upwards, vanishing beyond the light of the torches and into darkness. But it wasn’t the size of the room that was intimidating. Lining those painted walls, their eyes glittering in the flickering torch light, were the gods. The true gods. Those he had betrayed and blasphemed against by doing the work of Zorc.
His eyes sought out the monstrous form of Ammit and Bakura shuddered violently. He was doomed.
The monster’s eyes shone red and it strained at the chains binding it to the floor. Its nostrils flared, and Bakura knew – he just knew – that it could smell his sins. Crocodile jaws snapped in his direction, and long claws were unsheathed from lion paws. Its powerful muscles rippled under its skin, and Bakura wondered how far he’d be able to get if he ran.
In front of him, the Pharaoh gave a little hiss of fear. Bakura couldn’t even find it in himself to feel smug about that. He was terrified too.
He tore his gaze away from Ammit and looked to the gods standing next to it. He marvelled for a moment that they were able to stand so close to the monster without any fear, but then again, he supposed, they were gods. And they’d had millennia to get used to Ammit’s presence.
Yinepu stood straight backed, his long, straight black hair hidden under a veil of faience beads that glittered like stars. He gave a jackal’s smile, and long, white teeth gleamed. By his side, a wax tablet in his hands, stood Djehuty. He looked at them curiously, even though he was already poised to record their fates.
They, like the gods he had seen on the boat, were dressed in the finest of linens, papyrus sandals on their feet, and gold jewellery decorated with beads crafted from precious stones and faience. Though, Bakura noted, Djehuty wore less jewellery than the other gods he had seen – excluding Setekh. He wondered if it was personal preference.
“Welcome to the Hall of Judgement Pharaoh Atemu; Bakura of Kul Elna,” Yinepu said. His voice was soft and harsh, as though he hadn’t spoken for years and had become unused to it. His words were in Egyptian, and it took a while for Bakura’s brain to register the use of his native language – he hadn’t heard it spoken in so long. The Pharaoh seemed to have a similar problem, as it took a couple of seconds for him to round on Bakura, his features twisted in shock.
“You!” he gasped. “Don’t you ever die?”
“Apparently, Your Highness, I do,” Bakura growled. “Else I wouldn’t be here with my heart about to be eaten, would I?”
The Pharaoh’s mouth moved soundlessly for a moment, before he looked away. The gods, who’d witnessed their little display, looked amused.
‘This is probably the most they’d had to do in centuries,’ Bakura thought.
“We have seen your actions,” Yinepu rasped, “from both before and after your deaths.”
The Pharaoh tensed, and Bakura began to wonder what the heck was going on. Weren’t people supposed to be judged separately? Why was Yinepu talking as if they were going to be judged together?
“The Sennen Items were never supposed to be created,” Yinepu continued. “When they were, you were robbed of your true lives.”
Say what?
“You were never given a chance to live, and so we cannot judge you.”
Bakura felt faint. He almost sank to his knees then and there to praise them. Instead, he released a low, shuddering sigh of relief and managed, somehow, to remain on his feet. His knees felt like they had turned to jelly.
Yinepu had stopped talking, and Bakura almost felt like he should ask something, but he couldn’t think of what. His thoughts were running a mile a minute, flashing through his brain far too quickly for him to grasp onto them and force them into coherency. He chose to remain silent, not wanting to burble like an idiot in front of people who could – and probably would – squash him like a bug.
The Pharaoh took a deep breath. “Then what is to become of us?” he asked, and though his voice was confident, his words were heavy with respect.
And, thankfully, his question had been a good one. Bakura wrapped his arms around his body, drawing his robes around him, and listened. The world suddenly seemed to be in much sharper focus.
“You will be sent back to earth,” Heru said from where he stood next to them. Unlike Yinepu, his voice was smooth and rich like molten gold. Bakura got the impression that he was smiling. “You will be sent to modern day Japan, where you were living before the Items were destroyed.”
The Pharaoh brightened. He stood straighter and his shoulders lifted slightly, and Bakura could just tell that he was dying to see his cheerleaders again, along with his other. The Pharaoh, no doubt, would be welcomed back among them with open arms.
He doubted it would be as easy for him.
“There will be, of course, rules,” Djehuty said. His gaze was flickering from them to the wax tablet he was holding, and Bakura got the impression that he wasn’t all that much of a public speaker. It was oddly endearing, and he could have sworn that Yinepu was looking at the ibis-headed god fondly.
He shook his head. He had to be imagining things.
“You are forbidden from using your Shadow powers,” Djehuty continued. “You will both have to find gainful employment or enter into formal education. You will not steal, murder –“ Bakura got the impression that most of this was being aimed at him “- crush the minds of your adversaries –“ or maybe not “- or bring direct or intentional harm to anyone.”
“Do you agree to these terms?” Those words were spoken by Setekh, in a deep voice that rumbled like thunder in his muscled chest. Bakura raised his head to look at the god: his square-tipped ears, his blood red fur and his gleaming needle teeth. Red eyes, burning with power, stared back down at him.
“I agree,” he said. The words were out of his mouth before he could stop to think, but he knew that he meant them – heart and soul. After all, anything would be better than being devoured by Ammit, which was still straining at its chains and snarling furiously.
“I agree,” the Pharaoh said a moment later.
“Then it is decided,” a soft, whispery voice said. Bakura turned his gaze away from Setekh and watched as a man wrapped in bandages, supported by two beautiful women – sisters, by the looks of them, that radiated power and golden light – came forward. What little of the man’s skin was on view looked green in the candlelight, and shrivelled.
He was Auser, Bakura realised; the women supporting him Auset and Neb-het.
He was looking at the King of the Underworld and his two sister-wives. He swallowed nervously. The power coming off the man was incredible, and even Ammit seemed to realise it as he quieted as Auser passed.
“You will return to the living world,” Auser continued, his whispery voice rattling out of his desiccated throat. “You will live out your lives so that you may be judged upon your return to these halls.”
The thought of having to come back to this place – this huge hall of painted stone filled with gods and goddesses and magic so powerful that it made his teeth ache – filled Bakura with dread. He couldn’t help but think that no matter what he did, nothing would be able to erase the sins of his first life and his time in the Ring from their eyes and his own heart. He would be devoured. He knew it.
But…it was a chance that he couldn’t turn down. He was being given a chance to live a Zorc free life, to learn, to try – try as hard as he could – to make it up to Ryou.
He suspected that that would be the hardest part of going back.
Ryou.
His other. His reincarnation, of sorts. The bearer of the Sennen Ring and the person who had been tortured by his Zorc possessed spirit.
Somehow, Bakura couldn’t see him being pleased about Bakura’s return.
He felt something jolt in his chest. His head shot up and he focussed on Auser. The dead god was looking at him; his withered lips were pulled back to reveal white teeth, cracking with the effort of smiling. There was another tug at his chest, as if someone had managed to place a hook around his heart and was trying to wrench the organ out through his ribs. He gasped, his head swam, and from the corner of his eye, he saw the Pharaoh fall to his knees, clutching at the material of his linen vest.
Bakura grit his teeth against the pain, and closed his eyes. He fought to stay on his feet – a matter of pride more than anything else – even as his limbs loosened, his joints turned to jelly, and pain seared through him.
Then, as suddenly as it had begun, it was all over.
Bakura took a slow, deep breath, and realised that he could smell rain and concrete and exhaust fumes. Cool droplets fell on his hair and skin and, keeping his eyes closed, he tilted his head back to let the rain bathe his face. Then, he opened his eyes to look up between the tall buildings at the grey sky. He was standing in an alleyway that he vaguely recognised as being half way between Ryou’s apartment and the Kame Game Shop. The Pharaoh was kneeling on the ground three feet away, hunched over, his hands still gripping at his chest. He was dressed differently; not in the rich clothes of a Pharaoh, but in loose, black trousers and a white tank top that was quickly becoming transparent in the rain.
He was still wearing his elaborate, incredibly valuable jewellery, though, along with the kohl around his eyes. Bakura had to admit that he looked good like that, if pained.
He looked down at himself and scowled. His shenti had been replaced with black leather trousers and his sandals had become boots. Apparently the gods were more than happy to let him wander round in the skins of animals; clothing deemed too unclean for their precious Pharaoh. He was shirtless, still, and they had left his red woollen robe the same as it had been in Ancient Egypt, although considerably cleaner. He drew it round his chest for warmth, and turned back to the Pharaoh, who was looking at him curiously.
“You look different,” the Pharaoh said.
Bakura, unsure if he should take it as a compliment or not, didn’t reply.
“What are you going to do?” the Pharaoh asked.
Bakura shrugged. “No idea,” he said. “Not like I have a home to go to.”
The Pharaoh winced slightly, as if he was just realising that Bakura’s return would be far less welcomed than his own. Silence hung over them for a moment.
“I thought you were destroyed with Zorc.”
Bakura rolled his eyes. “I was possessed, moron,” he snapped. “From the moment your dearest daddy ordered my entire village to be slaughtered.” The Pharaoh winced again, but met Bakura’s gaze fearlessly. Bakura felt his anger slowly drain away. He was tired, and he knew that he would need to find somewhere to sleep before darkness set in. “When Zorc was destroyed, I was freed from his power; weak and helpless, but free. When you made the decision to pass on, I was dragged along for the ride.”
The Pharaoh nodded. “Good luck, Bakura,” he said.
Bakura snorted. “Same to you, Your Highness,” he said.
He turned and left, not wanting to watch as the Pharaoh skipped off to his happy little reunion with his other self. Besides, Bakura had other things to worry about than the Pharaoh getting home safely; things like food, shelter, and some way of getting a job that wouldn’t piss off the gods or involve whoring himself out – though he had to admit that becoming a prostitute probably didn’t fall under the category of “gainful employment”, anyway.
He’d think his options over in the morning. First, he needed somewhere to sleep.
Author: Evandar (yamievandar / hikarievandar)
Fandom: YuGiOh!
Rating: R
Pairing: Bakura/Ryou, Yami/Yugi
Genre: Romance/Drama
Warnings: Yaoi, spoilers for the whole series, copious amounts of Egyptian mythology.
Disclaimer: I do not own YuGiOh! and I am making no profit from this story.
Summary: When Yami passes into the afterlife, Bakura's soul is dragged with him. But instead of passing on completely, the gods offer them the chance at a second life.
AN: Setekh = Seth, Heru = Horus, Yinepu = Anubis, Djehuty = Thoth, Auser = Osiris, Auset = Isis and Neb-het = Nephthys. Also, animal skins were considered to be the clothing of the very low classes in Ancient Egypt. Most people wore linen; only the lowest of the low wore stuff like wool and leather, which is why I have Bakura wearing them.
He followed the Pharaoh, who was following Heru, through the halls of Duat and into a huge chamber. Painted walls and pillars soared upwards, vanishing beyond the light of the torches and into darkness. But it wasn’t the size of the room that was intimidating. Lining those painted walls, their eyes glittering in the flickering torch light, were the gods. The true gods. Those he had betrayed and blasphemed against by doing the work of Zorc.
His eyes sought out the monstrous form of Ammit and Bakura shuddered violently. He was doomed.
The monster’s eyes shone red and it strained at the chains binding it to the floor. Its nostrils flared, and Bakura knew – he just knew – that it could smell his sins. Crocodile jaws snapped in his direction, and long claws were unsheathed from lion paws. Its powerful muscles rippled under its skin, and Bakura wondered how far he’d be able to get if he ran.
In front of him, the Pharaoh gave a little hiss of fear. Bakura couldn’t even find it in himself to feel smug about that. He was terrified too.
He tore his gaze away from Ammit and looked to the gods standing next to it. He marvelled for a moment that they were able to stand so close to the monster without any fear, but then again, he supposed, they were gods. And they’d had millennia to get used to Ammit’s presence.
Yinepu stood straight backed, his long, straight black hair hidden under a veil of faience beads that glittered like stars. He gave a jackal’s smile, and long, white teeth gleamed. By his side, a wax tablet in his hands, stood Djehuty. He looked at them curiously, even though he was already poised to record their fates.
They, like the gods he had seen on the boat, were dressed in the finest of linens, papyrus sandals on their feet, and gold jewellery decorated with beads crafted from precious stones and faience. Though, Bakura noted, Djehuty wore less jewellery than the other gods he had seen – excluding Setekh. He wondered if it was personal preference.
“Welcome to the Hall of Judgement Pharaoh Atemu; Bakura of Kul Elna,” Yinepu said. His voice was soft and harsh, as though he hadn’t spoken for years and had become unused to it. His words were in Egyptian, and it took a while for Bakura’s brain to register the use of his native language – he hadn’t heard it spoken in so long. The Pharaoh seemed to have a similar problem, as it took a couple of seconds for him to round on Bakura, his features twisted in shock.
“You!” he gasped. “Don’t you ever die?”
“Apparently, Your Highness, I do,” Bakura growled. “Else I wouldn’t be here with my heart about to be eaten, would I?”
The Pharaoh’s mouth moved soundlessly for a moment, before he looked away. The gods, who’d witnessed their little display, looked amused.
‘This is probably the most they’d had to do in centuries,’ Bakura thought.
“We have seen your actions,” Yinepu rasped, “from both before and after your deaths.”
The Pharaoh tensed, and Bakura began to wonder what the heck was going on. Weren’t people supposed to be judged separately? Why was Yinepu talking as if they were going to be judged together?
“The Sennen Items were never supposed to be created,” Yinepu continued. “When they were, you were robbed of your true lives.”
Say what?
“You were never given a chance to live, and so we cannot judge you.”
Bakura felt faint. He almost sank to his knees then and there to praise them. Instead, he released a low, shuddering sigh of relief and managed, somehow, to remain on his feet. His knees felt like they had turned to jelly.
Yinepu had stopped talking, and Bakura almost felt like he should ask something, but he couldn’t think of what. His thoughts were running a mile a minute, flashing through his brain far too quickly for him to grasp onto them and force them into coherency. He chose to remain silent, not wanting to burble like an idiot in front of people who could – and probably would – squash him like a bug.
The Pharaoh took a deep breath. “Then what is to become of us?” he asked, and though his voice was confident, his words were heavy with respect.
And, thankfully, his question had been a good one. Bakura wrapped his arms around his body, drawing his robes around him, and listened. The world suddenly seemed to be in much sharper focus.
“You will be sent back to earth,” Heru said from where he stood next to them. Unlike Yinepu, his voice was smooth and rich like molten gold. Bakura got the impression that he was smiling. “You will be sent to modern day Japan, where you were living before the Items were destroyed.”
The Pharaoh brightened. He stood straighter and his shoulders lifted slightly, and Bakura could just tell that he was dying to see his cheerleaders again, along with his other. The Pharaoh, no doubt, would be welcomed back among them with open arms.
He doubted it would be as easy for him.
“There will be, of course, rules,” Djehuty said. His gaze was flickering from them to the wax tablet he was holding, and Bakura got the impression that he wasn’t all that much of a public speaker. It was oddly endearing, and he could have sworn that Yinepu was looking at the ibis-headed god fondly.
He shook his head. He had to be imagining things.
“You are forbidden from using your Shadow powers,” Djehuty continued. “You will both have to find gainful employment or enter into formal education. You will not steal, murder –“ Bakura got the impression that most of this was being aimed at him “- crush the minds of your adversaries –“ or maybe not “- or bring direct or intentional harm to anyone.”
“Do you agree to these terms?” Those words were spoken by Setekh, in a deep voice that rumbled like thunder in his muscled chest. Bakura raised his head to look at the god: his square-tipped ears, his blood red fur and his gleaming needle teeth. Red eyes, burning with power, stared back down at him.
“I agree,” he said. The words were out of his mouth before he could stop to think, but he knew that he meant them – heart and soul. After all, anything would be better than being devoured by Ammit, which was still straining at its chains and snarling furiously.
“I agree,” the Pharaoh said a moment later.
“Then it is decided,” a soft, whispery voice said. Bakura turned his gaze away from Setekh and watched as a man wrapped in bandages, supported by two beautiful women – sisters, by the looks of them, that radiated power and golden light – came forward. What little of the man’s skin was on view looked green in the candlelight, and shrivelled.
He was Auser, Bakura realised; the women supporting him Auset and Neb-het.
He was looking at the King of the Underworld and his two sister-wives. He swallowed nervously. The power coming off the man was incredible, and even Ammit seemed to realise it as he quieted as Auser passed.
“You will return to the living world,” Auser continued, his whispery voice rattling out of his desiccated throat. “You will live out your lives so that you may be judged upon your return to these halls.”
The thought of having to come back to this place – this huge hall of painted stone filled with gods and goddesses and magic so powerful that it made his teeth ache – filled Bakura with dread. He couldn’t help but think that no matter what he did, nothing would be able to erase the sins of his first life and his time in the Ring from their eyes and his own heart. He would be devoured. He knew it.
But…it was a chance that he couldn’t turn down. He was being given a chance to live a Zorc free life, to learn, to try – try as hard as he could – to make it up to Ryou.
He suspected that that would be the hardest part of going back.
Ryou.
His other. His reincarnation, of sorts. The bearer of the Sennen Ring and the person who had been tortured by his Zorc possessed spirit.
Somehow, Bakura couldn’t see him being pleased about Bakura’s return.
He felt something jolt in his chest. His head shot up and he focussed on Auser. The dead god was looking at him; his withered lips were pulled back to reveal white teeth, cracking with the effort of smiling. There was another tug at his chest, as if someone had managed to place a hook around his heart and was trying to wrench the organ out through his ribs. He gasped, his head swam, and from the corner of his eye, he saw the Pharaoh fall to his knees, clutching at the material of his linen vest.
Bakura grit his teeth against the pain, and closed his eyes. He fought to stay on his feet – a matter of pride more than anything else – even as his limbs loosened, his joints turned to jelly, and pain seared through him.
Then, as suddenly as it had begun, it was all over.
Bakura took a slow, deep breath, and realised that he could smell rain and concrete and exhaust fumes. Cool droplets fell on his hair and skin and, keeping his eyes closed, he tilted his head back to let the rain bathe his face. Then, he opened his eyes to look up between the tall buildings at the grey sky. He was standing in an alleyway that he vaguely recognised as being half way between Ryou’s apartment and the Kame Game Shop. The Pharaoh was kneeling on the ground three feet away, hunched over, his hands still gripping at his chest. He was dressed differently; not in the rich clothes of a Pharaoh, but in loose, black trousers and a white tank top that was quickly becoming transparent in the rain.
He was still wearing his elaborate, incredibly valuable jewellery, though, along with the kohl around his eyes. Bakura had to admit that he looked good like that, if pained.
He looked down at himself and scowled. His shenti had been replaced with black leather trousers and his sandals had become boots. Apparently the gods were more than happy to let him wander round in the skins of animals; clothing deemed too unclean for their precious Pharaoh. He was shirtless, still, and they had left his red woollen robe the same as it had been in Ancient Egypt, although considerably cleaner. He drew it round his chest for warmth, and turned back to the Pharaoh, who was looking at him curiously.
“You look different,” the Pharaoh said.
Bakura, unsure if he should take it as a compliment or not, didn’t reply.
“What are you going to do?” the Pharaoh asked.
Bakura shrugged. “No idea,” he said. “Not like I have a home to go to.”
The Pharaoh winced slightly, as if he was just realising that Bakura’s return would be far less welcomed than his own. Silence hung over them for a moment.
“I thought you were destroyed with Zorc.”
Bakura rolled his eyes. “I was possessed, moron,” he snapped. “From the moment your dearest daddy ordered my entire village to be slaughtered.” The Pharaoh winced again, but met Bakura’s gaze fearlessly. Bakura felt his anger slowly drain away. He was tired, and he knew that he would need to find somewhere to sleep before darkness set in. “When Zorc was destroyed, I was freed from his power; weak and helpless, but free. When you made the decision to pass on, I was dragged along for the ride.”
The Pharaoh nodded. “Good luck, Bakura,” he said.
Bakura snorted. “Same to you, Your Highness,” he said.
He turned and left, not wanting to watch as the Pharaoh skipped off to his happy little reunion with his other self. Besides, Bakura had other things to worry about than the Pharaoh getting home safely; things like food, shelter, and some way of getting a job that wouldn’t piss off the gods or involve whoring himself out – though he had to admit that becoming a prostitute probably didn’t fall under the category of “gainful employment”, anyway.
He’d think his options over in the morning. First, he needed somewhere to sleep.
