WASA/N: Believe it or not, this story was inspired by a roll of toilet paper. 8D Because toilet paper reminds me of mummies. xD
Setting: 1923-1926; Egypt.
Ages: Kanda was 21 years old during 1923; he'd be 24 years old in 1926. Allen was 18 years old during 1923; he'd be 21 years old in 1926. Lavi is at the same age as Kanda. In this fanfic, every canon is 6 years older in 1926.
Warning: There'll be gay smex in the future (courtesy of Yullen), and be warned that the word "fuck" is found in almost every sentence that comes out of Kanda's mouth. (though I'm not sure if that word was already being used in the 1920s).
Beta: My grammar Nazi friend volunteered to be my Beta, and so most of the grammatical errors has been vanquished. XD
***The italicized texts are the exact same words coming from the movie's screenplay. I know the grammar sucks a bit, but I'd rather not change them, for the sake of establishing the connection between the movie and the fic. 8D
Disclaimer: I don't own D. Gray-Man or the Mummy. I respect Hoshino and Stephen Sommers with all my heart and soul. 8D
CHAPTER I: CARNAGE AND CURSES
Thebes, Egypt 1290 B.C.
The setting sun of Amun-Ra tenderly grazed its golden red gaze over the magnificent Egyptian city of Thebes, giving the infrastructures an esoteric glow of natural gold. The greatest building of them all was the Pharaoh's palace, the one place that was revered as "equal" to the home of the gods. Faithful guards and servants were scattered all over, bowing and making way as the pharaoh himself rode past on his horse-drawn chariot.
Thebes, city of the living, crown jewel of Pharaoh Seti the First.
On one special balcony window, a handsome, dark-skinned man leaned against the stone railing, his golden eyes gazing soulfully at the darkening horizon. One slender hand moved towards his crown of deep russet locks, fingers brushing the curly strands back as he tried to straighten out any stubborn knots. His priestly robes were loose enough to expose his whole torso, and his lean but pleasantly muscular figure was fully glorified.
Home of Tyki Mikk, Pharaoh's High Priest, Keeper of the Dead.
And then a stunning, olive-skinned youth walked into the outer foyer, making his way towards that same balcony where the High Priest stood. His hair was just above his shoulders and slightly curled; it was the color of polished ebony, and let loose in a wild but alluring fashion. His golden irises gazed intently beyond the curtain of silk that served as the only obstacle between him and the man of his desires, and he strode purposefully towards the barrier. His walk was elegant, catlike, and his wonderfully contoured body was bare to the waist, the black ink patterns on his shoulders and chest marking his bond with the pharaoh.
Birthplace of Anck-su-namun, the Pharaoh's Fourteenth male consort. No other man was allowed to touch him.
Tyki's lips broke into a satisfied smirk as he sensed Anck-su-namun's presence, his eyes showering the young man's body with an adoring and lusty gaze as he approached him. Oh yeah, he thought, licking his lips as he continued admiring his companion's barely clothed body. The Pharaoh may be an old fart, but I have to admit, he's got great taste.
A similar smirk was on the consort's face as he stared back into the man's intense gold eyes, a tongue running lightly over his lower lip as his gaze moved towards Tyki's own mouth. No words were needed to express their desires, and in the next moment, their lips were interlocked in a passionate war of tongues and moans.
But for their love, they were willing to risk life itself.
The priests that Tyki had installed to stand guard were about to close the door when suddenly, Seti himself charged into Anck-su-namun's room. The proud Pharaoh's expression was suspicious as he stared at the silent priests. "What are you doing here?" he demanded, unsettled by their presence in his consort's chambers. Upon receiving only silence as the answer, the Pharaoh's head snapped towards the direction of the balcony, and without further hesitation he marched into the outer foyer, walking abruptly through the thin silk curtain.
Anck-su-namun stood by an onyx statue of a guard dog, leaning casually against it as he gave the Pharaoh a sexy smile. However, his efforts of feigning innocence were thwarted as the Pharaoh's sharp eyes noticed the smudged parts of his paint-on clothes.
"Who has touched you?" he hollered in anger, pointing accusingly at a smudged area on his chest. Anck-su-namun didn't reply; instead his eyes flickered towards a figure behind the pharaoh. Seti caught the action and turned around to see who the youth was looking at. But before he could fully react, he felt his sword being pulled abruptly out of its scabbard from behind.
The Pharaoh stared at the impostor with a stunned expression, unable to believe his eyes. "Tyki Mikk?" he gasped. "My priest…" his voice trailed off as he was rendered speechless, but before he could recover, Anck-su-namun pulled out a dagger from behind the statue and brutally stabbed the pharaoh in the back. An impressed whistle escaped Tyki's mouth.
"You are one dangerous man," he teased, smirking at his love as he slashed at the pharaoh's abdomen, earning another cry of pain and a shower of blood. The adulterous consort smiled back at him in amusement.
"Of course," he retorted, wiping the splatter of blood off his face as he stabbed the pharaoh one more time.
"Don't wipe it off," Tyki said, a manic grin plastered on his face. "You look more beautiful when you're covered in blood."
"Why, thank you," Anck-su-namun grinned in reply, the same crazed look in his golden eyes. A bloody finger was brought up to his lips, and he licked at the red liquid with vigor. "Maybe we should do this again."
Tyki's grin grew wider, and after burying the sword in the Pharaoh's head, the handsome priest stepped closer to the now master-less youth, bloody hands gently curling around his chin. "I shall happily grant your request," he purred bending down to lick his love's bloodstained lips. "My prince."
Before they could further indulge in their morbid fantasies, shouts resounded from the other side of the door, which the priests had dutifully bolted under Tyki's orders. Slams echoed all over the room as the door was broken down, and soon alarm set into the lovers' eyes. The bald priests, being loyal subjects to Tyki, started grabbing him and hissing desperate details about his escape. But the High Priest wasn't listening. His attention was only focused on the determined look on his lover's face. He didn't even need to hear it. He knew what exactly was running through his mind at that moment.
No, he mouthed, his eyes desperate. Don't do this.
But Anck-su-namun defiantly shook his magnificent head in response. "You must go," he said, his voice unfaltering as if he had expected this from the start. "Save yourself. Only you can resurrect me." Resurrect me and we will run away. Together.
"You don't have to do this," he pleaded, struggling against his stubborn servants, who were now resolutely pushing him out of the window, towards safety. At the back of his mind, Tyki made a mental note to punish his servants later in revenge. "Please, just escape with me."
But Anck-su-namun didn't answer. Instead, the loud, commanding voices of the Mumai – Pharaoh's personal guards – answered in his place. Tyki was successfully shoved out the window before the guards ripped through the silk curtain. From underneath the balcony, he could only see the shadows of the people inside the room. He tried to move up higher to see more, but as the events escalated, Tyki found himself wishing that he had not seen anything at all.
"My body is no longer his temple!"
That was the last thing Tyki heard before he saw Anck-su-namun's shadow depict how he personally plunged the dagger into his own heart.
Hamunaptra, City of the Dead, 1290 B.C.
To resurrect Anck-su-namun, Tyki Mikk and his priests broke into his grave and stole the body.
Mournful, golden eyes stared at the lifeless body in front of him. So beautiful that even death cannot mar his splendor, he thought, caressing a deathly cold cheek with a finger coated in fresh blood. He had taken it upon himself to personally dispose of the tomb guards in the most gruesome and inhumane way. "You do not deserve to be in the underworld, my love," he whispered into Anck-su-namun's ear. "I will bring you back. No matter what it takes."
They raced deep into the desert, taking Anck-su-namun's corpse to Hamunaptra, City of the Dead, ancient burial site for sons of pharaohs and resting place for the wealth of Egypt.
The cold desert wind didn't affect Tyki's resolve as his entourage raced across the sand's surface, their torches the only source of light, since the new moon refused to shed any of its silver rays to guide them. From afar, the High Priest could see the isolated city of Hamunaptra, and as he drew nearer, Tyki Mikk could feel his heart palpitating both in excitement and anxiety. Just a little more time, he thought, glancing at the chariot that carried his lover's body. Hold on, love. Wait for me.
For his love, Tyki Mikk dared the gods' anger by going deep into the city, where he took the Book of the Dead from its holy resting place.
The whole city was void of any form of life – obviously – which made it easier for Tyki to navigate through the area without having to worry about being caught. He found the great statue of Anubis, and without hesitation or even a single thought about the wrath of the gods, the High Priest stole the Book of the Dead from its holy resting place and brought it with him to an underground ritual chamber where he had placed Anck-su-namun's body.
Anck-su-namun's soul had been sent to the dark underworld, his vital organs removed and placed in five, sacred canopic jars.
Because he had killed the pharaoh, Anck-su-namun's soul was cursed to travel a painful journey to the dark underworld. Tyki knew that the more time he took preparing for the ritual, the less chance he had of retrieving his beloved. And so without further delay, the five canopic jars holding Anck-su-namun's vital organs were placed on the altar beside his corpse. The bald priests had formed a circle around the aforementioned altar, bowing and chanting simultaneously. Tyki, on the other hand, stood tall in his priestly robes, and held the black Book of the Dead with tensed hands. The incantations slipped off his tongue with ease, and as he chanted, his golden eyes flickered towards the unmoving body, waiting for any signs of life.
Anck-su-namun's soul had come back from the dead. But pharaoh's bodyguards found out and stopped him before the ritual could be completed.
At last, the dentritus pond, believed to be the entrance to the underworld, started to stir. One of the canopic jars shook, and soon Anck-su-namun's severed heart started to beat with life. Tyki watched in fascination as a figure made of black mist rose out of the murky depths, and began to fly towards Anck-su-namun's body.
The chanting intensified and escalated into the climax of the ritual, where Tyki was supposed to slice open his chest and place his now-beating heart back inside. Before he could do so, however, pharaoh's guards arrived and stopped him, making Tyki unable to complete the ritual. The soul, incapable of holding on to a dead body, removed itself from the corpse and dove back down to the underworld, leaving with an eerie, high-pitched scream.
His priests were condemned to be mummified alive. As for Tyki Mikk, he was condemned to endure the Hom-dia, the worst of all ancient curses, one so horrible that it had never before been bestowed.
Tyki could hear the blood-curling screams of his servants as they were mummified alive, and he couldn't help but cringe as he witnessed one of them have his brains pulled out while he was still conscious. As sickening as it was though, a part of the golden-eyed man felt amused by the screams that entered his ears. Tyki strangely liked the notion of inflicting pain on others, and loved to hear people scream in agony. The sound ironically calmed his senses, and even provided him with small but appreciated amounts of personal pleasure.
However, Tyki knew that he would be screaming louder than any one else.
The masked embalmers cut his tongue off and fed it to the dogs, after which he was wrapped with bandages that were heavily anointed with acrid smelling oils, which would have made Tyki gag if he could. After being completely wrapped alive, Tyki's body was then placed inside a black casket, where man-eating scarabs were tossed in. The embalmers, calmly ignoring the High Priest's muffled screams as the bugs ate through his flesh, closed the coffin and sealed it within a secured marble sarcophagus.
He was to remain sealed inside his sarcophagus, buried at the foot of Anubis, the undead for all for eternity. They would never allow him to be released. For he would arise a walking disease, a plague upon mankind, an unholy flesh-eater, with the strength of ages, power over the sands, and the glory of invincibility.
Hamunaptra, Egypt. 1923.
A stunning, longhaired man glared at the approaching horde of rebellious Tuaregs who were trampling the hot desert sand with dozens of aggravated horses. The coal dark eyes on his face narrowed as he steadily loaded his revolvers and .44 caliber rifle with bullets from the bandolier that was wrapped around his torso in a crisscross fashion. His handsome, Japanese features were slightly roughened by the coarse desert winds, and his pale skin was tanned due to prolonged exposure to the burnished sun. Long, midnight blue locks were tied up in a high ponytail, while bangs arranged in a semi-straight cut fringe shadowed the upper part of his face.
"Damn, I knew this was gonna be a lousy day," he growled under his breath as he positioned his rifle and steadily watched the approaching enemies move across the sand.
"Hell yeah," the person beside him replied. The man was, strangely, wearing a cowl similar to the coxcomb of a medieval jester. Inverted purple triangles were painted below his eyes, running down to his lower cheeks. A panicked look was in his eyes. "Personally, I would like to surrender," he stated, turning to the Japanese man. "Why can't we just surrender, Captain?"
The Japanese man rolled his eyes. "Shut up and gimme your bandolier," he ordered, and his clown-like subordinate did not fail to obey, immediately pulling off his cartridge belt.
"Ya' know what? Let's run away. Right now. While we can still make it," the clown added as he handed his ammo to the grumpy Japanese. The other man hissed. His companion probably didn't understand the meaning of "Shut up." Many people didn't, these days.
"Now, hand over your fuckin' revolver. Loser shit like you won't be able use it, anyway," he snapped, and the other man complied, almost tossing the gun at him as if he himself was afraid to hold it. The captain clucked his tongue in disdain. Why the hell did I get stuck with a bunch of losers? he wondered, growing angrier by the second. The sun only emphasized the scowling expression on his face.
"Then let's play dead, huh? Nobody ever does that anymore," the other man mused wistfully, earning another menacing growl from his captain.
"Goddamnit, go find me a stick," he demanded, earning a confused stare from his subordinate.
"A stick? In the desert? Why?"
"So that I can shove it down your fucking throat, because you obviously need a damn backbone, you spineless coward!" the captain snarled, causing the other man to instantly back away. "How the hell did a dipshit like you get in the Legion anyway? Fuckin' French don't know how to choose good soldiers these days, Jesus Christ."
The clownish man held up his hands in defense. "No need to be so harsh, Cap'n Kanda," the man replied. "I got in here 'cuz I was caught stealing some stuff from a synagogue somewhere in Turkey. The French said that I could either go to jail or join the troops. I thought this was the best option at first," he paused as he eyed the dangerously increasing number of charging enemy troops. "But obviously, I was damn wrong."
"Hell yeah, you were damn wrong, Daisya," Kanda sneered, noting the man's frightened look. "Go ahead and run while I'm busy, 'cause if I find you again, I'll shoot you," he deadpanned, cocking one of his revolvers. "I swear to every fuckin' god that I will."
Daisya didn't need to be told twice. He was already running away from the city's entrance before Kanda could say another word.
"Che," Kanda chided, re-focusing his attention onto the approaching enemy. There were a couple more Legionaries who ran away, but the majority stayed behind. Somehow, Kanda was grateful that there were many courageous men left in his battalion. Stupid too, since all of them knew that they would definitely lose and die. But at least they'd die as heroes. Not as cowardly scum who ran away.
"STEADY!" he shouted, signaling for every single soldier hold on tightly to his rifle and aim.
"Steady, steady," Kanda continued shouting. In a burst of sand, the enemies stepped into their firing range. "FIRE!" he hollered, and a split second later, the sound of guns firing echoed all over the abandoned city. The soldiers immediately reloaded their rifles.
"FIRE!" And bullets started flying once again. Dozens of Tuaregs fell on the sand, either shot dead, or trampled by panicking horses.
"FIRE!" Another line of enemies ate sand.
"FIRE!" But apparently, the enemy had had enough. Shots started coming from the opposing side, and soon, members of the French Foreign Legion dropped dead onto the desert sand. Kanda cursed loudly in Japanese as two men beside him both received a bullet in the head. He reloaded his rifle, and expertly took down six men. However, that was not enough to stall the enemy. They managed to breech the city's entrance, and plowed into the ruins, striking down the remaining Legionaries.
Running out of bullets for his rifle, Kanda took the barrel of his gun and started clubbing the riders off their steeds, fighting with the vigor of a man possessed by instinct to survive. He then threw away his rifle and cross-drew his two revolvers, blowing the men of their horses without any sign of mercy.
Kanda was doing just fine. Until his bullets ran out.
"Son of a bitch," he hissed, throwing his empty guns to the ground as he made a run for it. Four heavily armed Tuaregs on horses came after him, and he barely managed to evade their shower of bullets. As he ran into the city, he saw Daisya inside an open Temple doorway, pushing the heavy stone door.
"Hey, Daisya, wait up!" he called out to his subordinate as he started running towards the Temple's direction. The clown-like man pretended to not hear him, and instead applied more force in order to close the door faster. "Oi! What the fuck are you doing? Wait up!" Kanda shouted, running faster. The sound of hooves colliding against the sand was deafening. The door was three-fourths closed now, and Daisya still showed no intention of waiting for Kanda.
"Don't you close that door, you goddamn fucktard!" Kanda hollered, a madness in his dark eyes. "DON'T YOU CLOSE THAT DOOR!"
The captain found himself slamming against a stone door that wouldn't budge no matter how hard he pushed it. There's got to be a knob somewhere, he thought desperately, looking around the door. But as bullets collided against the doorframe and barely missed him, Kanda knew that he had no more time to waste.
"You're gonna pay for this, Daisya!" Kanda snarled loudly, before leaving the door and running through the ruins, jumping and rolling around as he avoided more of the bullets. He found a spare revolver strapped to his leg and started shooting at his pursuers, managing to bring one down but only aggravating the other three. Damn this, he thought as he continued running. City of the Dead. What a shitty place to die.
He turned a corner and found himself in a dead end. The sound of hooves came closer to him, as well as the distinct clacking sound of guns being loaded. This is it, he thought, inhaling deeply as he turned to face his enemies and certain death. He closed his eyes and raised his right hand, giving his soon-to-be executers the finger.
Kanda waited for the sensation of bullets piercing his skin, but after a few seconds of silence he opened his eyes curiously and found no one in front of him. From his place, he saw the horses of the Tuaregs frantically galloping away, as if they were desperate to get away from something terrible.
The Japanese captain stared at his middle finger with a whole new level of respect. But before he could ponder on how that rude sign was actually an effective weapon, his primal instincts sensed the presence of something evil standing behind him. Without stalling for even a second, Kanda immediately jumped back and stared at the weathered head of Anubis that seem to be glaring at him. The evil aura that surrounded the area was strong, making Kanda gulp and cautiously increase the distance between him and the statue. Damn it, he thought, realizing how stupid he was acting. It's just a fucking statue. What the hell is scary about a fucking statue, Kanda?
But he didn't stop backing away. If there was one thing Kanda trusted more than his mind, it was his instinct. And it was definitely screaming for him to get the hell away from there.
Suddenly, the sand began to shift under Kanda's feet. Alarm rattled the man's mind, and he hurried back as the sand fell away; it seemed to have huge-ass snakes wriggling and writhing beneath it, forming shapes and lines – drawing a picture. Kanda didn't stay and wait to see what it was. His instincts were working overtime, and he could not believe the amount of primal fear he was feeling. Before the picture was completed, Kanda was already running out of the city, towards the open desert.
What...on earth was that? he thought, slowing down into a jog as he looked warily behind him. Kanda shuddered, remembering that frightening presence. He had never experienced something like that in his entire life in the military. It was…inhuman. Monstrous, even. And evil. Not the "evil" vibe that terrorists released. This evil felt more… ancient. More powerful.
This time, Kanda's increased battle awareness perked up, and his eyes moved towards a nearby cliff, where he spotted several people mounted on horses. He frowned, wondering why he wasn't being shot down right now. They don't look like the Tuaregs, he contemplated as he squinted against the sun for a better look at them. They were all dressed in black garments, their faces hooded. Well, if they aren't killing me, then they're probably not enemies. Not allies either since none of them are showing any intention of helping me.
Kanda sighed and looked away, concentrating on how he was going to get to Cairo alive. He had no food and no water…but he knew the way. And he knew that, on foot, it would take a person at least two days if he ran all the way. But if he walked, it would take a good four to five days.
On the cliff, one of hooded figures watched the Japanese man carefully. "Brother," a female voice said slowly. "Is it okay to let him live?"
"Don't worry, Lenalee," another voice with a strange Australian accent replied. "There's no way he can survive the desert without food or water. He'll die before he can tell anyone about Hamunaptra. Right, Komui?"
"What's important is the creature remains asleep and undiscovered. We do not need more blood spilled today. Let us leave him alone," Komui announced, and murmurs of agreement followed. As long as we, the Medjai, descendants of the holy Mumai, make sure that "he" will never awaken, then everything will be fine.
Everything would be fine.
A/N: Wheee~! The idea of Kanda being Brendan Fraser makes me squeal!
Hahaha, naughty Tyki. You damn sexy priest. :P And damn, the Fourteenth is one hot mistress. xD
Anyway, sorry to Daisya fans out there. I didn't mean to make him look so wimpy, or traitorous, or cowardly, but I just can't find someone else who'll fit the category. And I needed someone who had contact with both Kanda and Tyki in the anime, so there. xD Anyway, lulz, Kanda's magic middle finger! XD
Come on, REVIEW people! And tell me about any spelling or grammar mistakes, will ya? 8D
Also check out my other Yullen fic entitled Handicapped Love. 8D you'll love it.