Author: "You're not suppose to update this after Memories. Get you ass back to the ninth chapter." Good question. Yes, I am getting my ass back to writing the latest chapter, but I think somewhere within my writing, I lost my schedule. Because one, apparently, it's difficult for me to stay on one spot. Two, I'm a nimrod for promising i'll try to finish it before this. Three, I'm too anxious to start this big project. There is a lot of reasons for this misunderstand. And four, admit it that you are pump for this. (If you're not, then I'm screwed for upsetting you.) Five, it's Chinese New Year, I cannot not post anything.

No, I am not having writer's block for Memories. No. My hands just seems to drift to another word document and I'm writing suddenly. And boom, chapter one is suddenly finished. You know what? If you're angry or confused by this, just PM me. I can entertain you. ;)

And the latest episode! We are drawing closer to episode 60! I'm excited for it. And Season 2 will continue on April 11th after the last episode for Season 1. A hundred demons? Never expected that. Tasuku and Jack has a new armor. Cool. But Bushi, seriously get Tasuku to weak some adorable clothes for once and I am dying to see Jack in mini form. Did anyone realize that Drum looked slightly older?

Chapter One
Δ Captured Δ

Tasuku slipped in and out of consciousness, eyes and ears barely catching their senses before a pulsing coldness overcame the one-sided battle he fought to stay awake. With the heat of this abandoned shaft, the broken wires connecting to the air-conditioners, he thought the heat would kill him. The thought fell off its stage, because there was nothing warm about the hard chest he was pressed into, arms circling his back and under his knees. Icy fingers clutched his arm and kneecap, so cold that it sucked out all the warm. He was shivering internally, but his body remained immobile.

There was an anguish cry of his name. Voices, both harsh and sniping, drifted into the dark room his mind conjured up. A room filled to the brim by darkness, all four corners sealing the exit. It was that dark room he was frozen in the middle, shackled by invisible cuffs to the ground. The minimum amount of noise taunted him, provoking his already racing heart to all out pounding.

He knew the shadows were closing in. The lack of sight had enhanced his hearing, picking up the soft creeping fingers making its way to him. Chancing itself, engulfing the walls to ensure success, prodding the barrier that separated his mind from danger. It hissed and growled in denial, frantically searching for a crack.

He wouldn't allow it. He squeezed his eyes tight, unwilling to look at their hideous shapes, and pushed back. He drew his knees to his chest, despite the stinging from his legs as they manoeuvred around the chains. The metal rings straightened and produced tiny squeaky clings. He tugged persistently, clawed the iron with his nails, ground them together in an attempt to break each other, made his hands smaller to slip through—he did everything. It was not possible.

"...ie..."

Tasuku jerked from his ministrations. It was a mistake. He became too aware of his ragged breathing, trembling hands grasping one another to steady themselves.

"...sa..."

Not an illusion. An actual speaker, communicating with him.

"...pie..."

The shadows bared their fangs at the voice, their hairs standing on ends for the attack. He wanted to stretch his arms out to protect it, but it rang together from all corners of the room, reaching his ears with the same magnitude. Unable to silence the voice, the shadows slammed harder against the barrier, creating a shockwave that prone his defence.

"...sam..."

His head whirled and dark spots appeared. This time, it wasn't the absence of light, it was himself losing the battle.

"...pai..."

I can't—

"Senpai!"

Tasuku woke up in a dark room, much like the one from his nightmare. For a moment, he thought the shadows had gotten to him, devouring his well-being. He was rest assured immediately when his eyes adjusted to the minimum of light passing through the patch of woven curtains, outlining the air-conditioner situated on the wall and unlit bulbs screwed to the ceiling. A low humming rocketed his nerves into vibrating, his entire frame forced to shake from the burst of electricity.

Spreading his arms to the sides, he tried to feel for the edge of the bed. Frowning upon finding no end to it, he edged lower with his toes, searching for the familiar texture of wood. Nothing. He ran his fingers along the sheet that was draped over him, amazed to discover it as soft as silk, comfortable to the touch.

Withdrawing his hands, he laid still in the company of unidentified silhouetted shapes, in a different room, in a very different bed.

What happened? Where am I?

He sat upright and got onto his feet. A wave of dizziness washed through his limbs, compelling him to sit back down.

It was too much. No longer could he stand as he fell onto his knees, the evidence of his lost whispered in a mechanical voice, declaring the name of the winner. After everything he had done to get this far, it had all been for nothing.

"Do you see now, the power of the Disaster Force?"

Tasuku didn't answer, pressing his lips into a firm line. He would not recognize the question. He would not. For the sake of his sanity and the people he would protect, he would see this to the end.

He raised his eyes defiantly. "I won't be persuaded."

Kyoya was about to reply, interrupted by a similar robotic voice echoed from another arena.

Tasuku smiled to himself. At least, he was safe. "You can't win. I may have lost the battle, but you lost the war." He didn't let on how sick he was feeling now, how losing this battle was a stab to his heart.

Kyoya returned a wily smile. "Who said the war has finished?"

Before he could ever do so much as budge, Kyoya was in front of him, tilting his chin up to meet sharp pupils. "Trust me. It's only the beginning."

Tasuku widened his eyes. "Don't you dare—" He purposely cut himself off, shot to his feet and backed away, only for his legs to fail him.

Strong arms caught him in an embrace. The world spun out of focus, eyes reluctantly obeying the need for sleep. His head lolled onto a hard chest. He briefly felt the pulse of a heartbeat pressed to the top of his head. His body crumbled to feathers as he defied gravity and was floating, a cold presence keeping him afloat.

Realization sunk in so deeply that it hurt just to think about it. He felt disgusted with himself. Against better judgement, he had sacrificed the only family he had. His hand came up to clutch the spot over his heart, as if guilt could be granted physically instead of dealing with emotional theories. Above all else, Jack had looked at him like he was the victim, like he was suffering more for doing this. Maybe he was. Maybe he was constantly hurting himself too much for others. Maybe that was why he did it. Jack didn't deserve someone who would willingly throw away humanity for their own selfish rights. Maybe Jack was better off with someone else. Not with a monster like him.

His eyes stung. He refused to admit they were tears. He was an adult. Adults don't cry. Furiously, he swiped his arm over his eyes, ready to come out with a plan and get out of here. But they continued to burn with endless tears, tearing a path down his cheeks and disappearing into the fabric of his shirt.

Damnit, what happened to all the training of withstanding pure pressure? Where did that eagerly, determined teen who sought to be an adult go? To put his mission before himself.

What happened to family?

The words were a splash of cold water to his resolve. A plug pulled from the pit. There was no stopping that abyss from swallowing the little bit of justice he convinced himself and replaced the blank space with guilt. Pure, stupid guilt. A small trivial subject he learned to conquer, to push back, but that was before—when his life was still intact.

Now, there was only a black spot.

He was alone again.

The biggest mistake he made most of all: he chose to do it.

There must be some motion sensor device, proved by the lack of dimness and the slowly deteriorating darkness. In a minute, the lights lit the room, revealing it to be not rectangular or square, but orbit-shaped. The bed he was put in was enormous, and so was the room, despite the uncanny structure. Though huge as it was, the extra space was left barren, consisting of the bed, a nightstand, and a desk completed with a swivel chair and a stack of paperbacks.

Regardless of what he had done, he decided to focus on what he should be doing. He was captured and taken hostage against his will, that much he knew. But for what reason, he didn't know.

Judging by the high-tech motion on-off switch for the lights, he wouldn't be surprised if the room was rigged. Nonetheless, it would be too late to stop what he was planning to do, unless his room was directly beside the control room or a fleet of guards were standing outside.

He needed a weapon. Aside from the glass of water on the nightstand which he wasn't dumb enough to drink even though he was thirsty, there weren't many objects able to live up to the requirements. He plucked one paperback off its family. It was in a foreign language. English, he presumed. The cover depicted a long table of silver spoons and forks. From what little English he knew, he understood the title. Professional Dining As A Royal. Testing its weight and doing practice swings, he was contented to find it light to swing and thick to do damage.

Walking over metallic flooring to try the knob on the door, he wasn't the least bit surprised to be met with resistance. It was locked from the outside. Scanning the room, he dragged the swivel chair and pushed it against the curtains, rumpling the ends to station the wheels in proper place. Using it as a foothold, he reached up to yank on the rings securing the blinds before detaching the small spiral coils into his hands.

Settling the book down by the floor, he began to straighten the metal coils into long, pointy toothpicks. He worked on the lock with them, picking his way through complicating levers, pushing a particular one with force. Another one was used to lift the hook off and the course was switched. A satifying click was like music to his ears. Flicking the tools away, he grabbed the book and rushed out, stopped short of a man.

Confusion fleeted across the man's eyes. He glanced uncertainly at the unlocked door, which was supposed to be locked as he was told. Brushing away the worries, the man smiled in agreement. "I'm happy to see that the size fits you perfectly. It was very hard to find a suitable size for you, seeing as your frame is small." Upon seeing the book in his hands, the smile grew wider. "I see you are well and ready to begin your lessons, Tasuku-sama—"

Tasuku didn't let him finish. When the man bowed in respect, he brought the book down on his nape as hard as he could. Not anticipating the attack, the man crumpled onto the floor in his expensive suit. He ran down the hall, throwing a small apology over his shoulder, not waiting to see if a gun was pointed at him. Clearly what he had done was rude to someone who was being nice.

The halls were a maze that branched off in a dozen directions. He passed by guards, snickering on their spots, mocking his futile escape. None of them stopped him, assured that he couldn't solve the maze. He didn't stop even as his legs burned from the effort, occasionally checking doors for an exit. The jeers started to get annoying to the point that he threw the paperback at one of their faces. At that point, he ran faster, avoiding a very seething gorilla who didn't deserve so much as a look, much less an apology.

"Dude, chill." His friend laughed into his hand. "Don't get overrated just because someone outwitted you."

"That son of a—"

He took the next intersection, shutting off the voices. There were too many doors and too little filter to tell their differences. Everyone in this place seemed to navigate through policy, opening doors that didn't had signs to indicate what they were for. Another funny thing was their behaviour. No one made a move on him, even when he shove them out of the way. The soldiers merely stepped out of the way while the servants ducked their heads.

They were treating him more like a guest than a prisoner.

At the end of the hallway was an archway, leading to a curved structure similar to his room, but bigger. The walls, instead of hard metal, were made of crystal clear glass, and so was the domed-ceiling. Glinting lights bombarded his vision—bright lights in blinking motion claimed a roof over him. Stars. City lights.

"No," Tasuku whispered, pressing a palm to the invisible glass. His own horrified expression reflected back. Feeling weak in the knees, he sank down to the floor, palm leaving behind a misty path.

He was in a ship, thousand feet above ground. How was he supposed to escape now?

The hatch he used earlier opened. Footsteps drew closer, then a pair of mahagony boots came into the line of his vision. It took great strength to tilt his head to the side, as if knowing that there was no escape drained him to the bottom. A slim girl, all blonde and blue-eyed smiled genuinely at him. She laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. The next time when she opened her eyes, her pupils were sharp.

The ship descended into a sizeable courtyard, going through a built-in runway. Paralleled lights flanked the ship on both sides, guiding its safe deposit into the hangar. He didn't know what people see in all of this—enchantment?

All he saw was a pitchless black hole swallowing him whole.

"Welcome home to the Gaen Residence, Tasuku-sama."

Next Chapter: Steadfast