My first full beyblade fic, starring none other than the Blitzkrieg Boys. This is set a year and a half-ish after G-Revolution and the Blitzkrieg Boys are all 18, with the exception of Spencer who is a year older, and Ian who is 17. Kai returns to Russia in winter to finalise financial arrangements having finally inherited his grandfather's fortune. Intent on starting a new leaf with the former Demolition Boys, things seem to be going well until news reaches Kai that Boris has escaped from jail in Japan. No money in the world will help Kai and his friends escape the living nightmare that will follow.

Please note this fic will be more serious than others I've done. It will contain angst, torture, possible death, as well as violence and a lot of arguing. I hope to keep it realistic and in character too, so you have all been warned. Other than that, I hope you'll enjoy it.

Disclaimer: 'Beyblade' and 'G-Revolution' and all associated characters and names are property of © Aoki Takao · BB3Project, TV Tokyo, licensed by d-rights Inc. I do not own Beyblade in any way and in writing this fiction I am not making a single cent/penny/any other form of currency. So don't sue. Please.

Slave For You

By AngeLhearteD

Prologue

This was necessary.

He was here out of duty, out of necessity. He was here because he had to be.

He was not here because he was interested. He was not here because he wanted to be.

He sat stiffly on the chair, arms by his sides, hands clenched into tight fists. This wouldn't last long. There was nothing to say.

There had never been anything to say between them, other than what was necessary.

This was necessary.

The last time he had come had been 2 years earlier, and again, only because he had had to. On the other side of the glass, the grey-haired man sat just as still, his eyes fixed on the slate-haired youth who sat opposite him.

The old man had aged a great deal. The stress of confinement and frustration of ruined plans showed clearly on his face. His grey hair was streaked with white; his eyes had bags underneath them. He looked tired.

The young man, flawless in appearance, felt no remorse, no compassion. He felt nothing.

The old man examined the younger. How he had changed. How he had grown, no longer a child, but now a fiery, handsome youth, in his prime.

Yes. Fire. He could see it clearly in the luminescent amethyst eyes. The fire within. The amber tints burned steadily, but the gaze was cold and as hard as ice.

He wore an black jacket with red straps at the collar, which was turned up, and sleeves that were rolled up to his elbows. Underneath, he wore a dark blue top and jeans of the same, dark indigo colour. Around his neck was the trademark, long white scarf, with two trailing ends. In his left ear was a small silver stud, and his hands were clad in black, fingerless gloves. His slate hair was past his shoulders at the back and unruly at the front, falling into intense eyes, cold, distant eyes. And on the pale smooth cheeks, were four triangular blue designs that the grey-haired man had ordered to be tattooed onto the younger man's face, 13 years earlier.

For a long while, neither of them spoke. The older man soaked up the sight of the younger. How fierce he looked. How very much like a warrior. How very intense and fiery were those eyes, but at the same time, how very frosted and cold.

Frosted…cold…the old man's eyes slipped behind the youth, stopping on another painfully familiar figure. An equally as striking young man, with flaming red hair and piercing blue eyes, stood by the door, dressed in a cobalt blue and red high collared jacket with sleeves up to the elbows, dark blue jeans and a red top underneath.

Ice.

Beside the flame haired youth stood one with silver hair. He also wore blue, though a lighter shade than the redhead: a blue, long sleeved jacket, waist length, with white fur on the collar, and a mahogany top underneath and black jeans.

Both youths were pale skinned and wore similar, black, fingerless gloves. They looked every inch the rebels they were famous for being. He knew those faces. He knew their names. He knew they were waiting for the amethyst eyed young man…waiting…for their comrade.

Just the sight of them, 3 and a half years after he had last seen them, brought everything back. The memories…the failure…

Anger sizzled. Blood boiled. Because of their incompetence, because of their failure, he was here, had been here for almost 4 years now. The old man's eyes moved back to the slate-haired youth on the opposite side of the glass.

And he broke the endless silence at last.

'How long has it been?'

The young man didn't even blink. He merely raised his head, which had bowed at some point while the old man had been looking away from him, and the luminescent eyes fixed on mahogany ones.

Stationed all around the large visiting room were armed security guards. Many people were visiting friends, lovers and family and there was a lot of noise in the room. But the grey haired man and the slate-haired youth heard none of what anyone else was saying.

At length, the youth blinked, and responded.

'2 years.' He stated, matter-of-factly, his voice flat and emotionless. Just the way he knew the older man liked it.

'So long…' The mahogany eyes looked the youth over again. 'You've become a fine young man grandson.'

Grandson. The young man's lips curved up very slightly in one corner, in a sneer of disgust. Grandson. It made him sick to hear the man address him by that name, yet he couldn't escape the truth. They shared the same blood, and despite everything, they were still family. This man was the only living relative he had left.

'What have you become?' The amethyst eyes turned in an instant from cold and distant into blazing hot coals burning with accusation, with hate, with fury.

The old man gave a small, bitter smile. 'You see me now…' He replied. 'What do your eyes show you?'

The wilful lips on the youth's face curved upwards even more, and now his contempt was clearly visible for the old man to see.

'You've become nothing.' He hissed.

'How ironic, my boy. You've been running from your past for so long…but deep down…you are a Hiwatari through and through.'

Anger flared in the young man's eyes.

'Hn.' He snorted derisively. 'I'm not your boy. After today, I will never look at you again.'

The old man's expression darkened at the young man's insolent words

'Now that's no way to speak to your old grandfather.'

The eyes blazed, amber tints raging within.

'And that was no way to treat your own grandson!' Came the sharp response.

The old man's eyes lowered, and closed for a moment, briefly. For a few seconds, he looked tired.

'Time has gone by. Things have changed, Kai.'

'You will never change.'

The eyes opened and rose, and locked onto the youth's. Kai Hiwatari stared back, frostily.

'I saw you in the finals, last year. I watched every single match, Kai.'

Kai's arms folded across his chest, and his eyes narrowed.

'You were magnificent.' His grandfather went on. 'Why, if you hadn't had such incompetent team-mates, victory would have been yours, guaranteed! That…Tala…was not worthy of having such a skilled blader as his partner. He has disappointed us both in that sense…but you Kai…you were greater than everything, everyone!'

The way the old man pronounced Tala's name as if it were a disease and his comment in general angered Kai. He leaned forward, his eyes never leaving the man's face.

'Your opinion doesn't matter to me, old man.' He pronounced the word the same way his grandfather had said Tala's name. 'I only came here to let you know…I've taken everything. The residences…the money…you have nothing left now. Your lawyers are dropping your appeal…after all…' A small smirk graced Kai's lips. 'Who will pay them?'

Anger sizzled. Blood boiled.

But the old man forced himself to retain his composure.

'Things have changed, grandson.' He said quietly. 'Even now, it's not too late.'

Kai knew exactly what he meant. It would be so easy to buy his grandfather out of jail.

But he would never, ever let the man ruin his life again. Never would he allow himself to be influenced by such heartless, cruel evil. An evil so blind, it had used his own family as a puppet, as a pawn.

'No.' Kai whispered, his eyes narrowing again. 'It's far too late for you. This is goodbye…grandfather.'

With that, the slate-haired youth pushed the chair back and rose. He did not look back at his only remaining relative as he turned and walked away, and rejoined the two young men who waited for him. Before leaving, the redhead glanced back over his shoulder and met the old man's gaze, across the room. The intense blue eyes narrowed, and then a tiny smirk formed on the youth's lips, before he turned and followed after his friends.

Voltaire Hiwatari watched as the automatic doors slid shut, as his only heir abandoned him to spend the rest of his days in alone and in confinement. Like some animal…without dignity, without honour.

And silently, he swore to make his wayward, insolent grandson pay; Kai and all those who had meddled and ruined his plans, 3 years earlier.

He would make them all pay dearly.

Author's Note:

Lovely cliff-hanger for you all. It was supposed to be an awkward meeting, and I hope that came across as being that way. For your information, that was Tala and Bryan with Kai, not that you wouldn't know lol. Anyway, let me know what you think of this, and I'll start on the next one soon. Thanks for reading.