Disclaimer: I do not own beyblade, nor do I own anything that may seem familiar used within the context of this story.

Mad World
I find it kinda funny
I find it kinda sad
The dreams in which I'm dying
Are the best I've ever had
-Gary Jules

Saligare - Prologue

Her plans never seemed to work. Lying back down on the cold cement, her soul staring out through the eyes that should have belonged to nothing but her corpse, served as proof to the futility. This unescapable ensnarement, the result of her latest scheme, lay far from the death in which she sought. While others would be blessed with the shadowy final curtain, she could still see the sky. While others would be gifted with silence, she could hear the hollow rumbling of distant thunder over the nearer blaring of car alarms and stalled traffic.

Once again she found herself fully alive when she should have been dead.

The sky was bound and suffocated by clouds of the darkest grey, like the sallow flesh of angels she imagined in her mind so gripped with madness. Angelic skin torn by every slash of lightning, spilling blood of the purest mingled with their heavenly tears, to which human eyes failed to differentiate. Their blood and tears she watched, washed over her own crimson tide as it began to stain the dark pavement.

She knew of the puddle forming beneath her head, but could feel nothing but the cold numbing grip of her own mock death.

"Hello? I'm sorry, there has been an accident . . . " It was all she caught of the frantic conversation as another roll of thunder boomed and echoed through her head. She closed her eyes and tried to move, but still her body refused. Begrudgingly, she resigned to the stillness of the moment, and listened to the voice whispering within her head, the soft lulling growl whispering of sleep and better things, and succumbed with little resistence.

Minutes later, she was perfectly aware of the men as they lifted her onto the stretcher and carted her off to the hospital.

Hospital, a place of white walls and needles. Sedation, she could feel it slipping into her veins even before the tiny metal point touched her flesh, a slight shiver, and the slow fading of control.

Aa darkness finally began to slip over her eyes. The voice began to whisper.

'Everything will be alright.'

Her heart began to slow. Her mind began to sink.

'You are mine forever.'

The stale stench of death and decay burnt through the mask of cleansing solutions and inundated her senses even before her body reached the emergency entrance.

'I will never let you go.'

When Mr. Dickinson had chosen to walk through the small German park, he had been blissfully unaware of the events that the day would have in store for him. He had only wanted to clear his head of the upcoming tournament preparations, and of the troubling news that had brought him to the foreign country in the first place. His responsibilities were weighty, and they were slowly beginning to crush him, but he was determined to pull through.

Two voices were raised in an argument beyond the thicket, and like any other citizen would, Mr. Dickinson tried to shy away. But no sooner had he passed the bushes that the words he had both grown to love and loathe reached his ears.

"Let's beyblade!" Curiosity began to stir as he felt his mood begin to lift. Never did he shy away from the chance to discover new talent, in any country. Stumbling through the trees, he came across the scene almost instantly.

Two teens stood on opposite sides of a massive cement bowl, completely unaware of Mr. Dickinson's presence, as they held their blades locked and ready to go within their launchers. Anxiously the man watched from the safety of the foliage as they began the routine countdown. "Three . . . two . . . one . . . Let It Rip!"

Both blades tore through the air and crashed against the opposing cement sides. Sparks flashed, sparked, and began to fly out from beneath them as they raced across the slopes, closing in on the center, closing in on each other.

The boy was the first to call an attack. "Lupine! Wolf claw!" And in response a light of blue, shot up from the bit-chip as the blade came rushing in. A massive silver wolf sprung out into the open, stretching its clawed paw to the sky, and bringing it down just as the blade collided with that of its opponent's. The blade skittered back, as Lupine spun in circles in the center.

The girl winced, but recovered instantly. Her blade swinging in toward the other, accelerating as it raced down from the edges, suddenly engulfed in flames.

The boy smirked: "Lupine dodge!"

"Celaeno!" The girl's blade thrust itself into the air as if on strings just as Lupine dodged to the side. "Divine punishment!"

The fires grew black around the blade as it plunged in for the final strike, crashing down right on top of the other blade with enough force to break it; all before the boy could act.

"You might want to hurry before you lost some of the pieces." The girl muttered softly, though the mock was evident in her voice. The boy leapt down into the dish and grabbed at the ruins of his blade, gaping at the pieces as he held them within his palm. "We feel no remorse for the destruction of a weak blade, nor do we for the destruction of an undeserved ego."

Something, an alarm of sorts, went off in Mr. Dickinson's mind. A red flag whose significance lay on the tip of his tongue.

The girl continued staring down at the boy as she holstered her launcher and slipped her blade into her pocket. The boy did not move.

"Whelp." She barked. At this the boy shot her a glare, and for a moment Mr. Dickinson wished to intervene, but both figured seemed so absorbed in their hatred that even his presence would not stop them. "If you seek to avenge your blade, do so now or forever live with the anger and the loathing . . . "

Lightning flashed across the sky, and like a wolf itself the boy sprung from the bowl growling and cursing at the girl as he swung at her with all his might. Blow after blow landed upon her frame until blood poured from between his fingers where the fragments of his blade were still help. Mr. Dickinson had finally held him back, but something held him back. Something spoke within his mind, speaking in tongues he had never heard the answer to his riddle, and in horror he froze.

The boy continued his attacks, but the girl never fought back. As the rain began splashing down from the sky in angry bursts, the boy's muttering and cursing became something primal, something feral. And with every blow he landed. The girl was forced back. Until finally, she was on the curbside.

Cars were buzzing past, trucks lumbering and crashing down the pavement at dangerous speeds. One more step and it was over.

Mr. Dickinson broke the spell and leapt from his hiding place, trying desperately to reach the boy before he did the unthinkable.

The boy, breathing heavily, glared at her from under heavy eyelids, his hair plastered to his head. The girl smiled.

"What's wrong, whelp?" She taunted, blood staining her face, her voice a pitiful, jeering wheeze as blood dribbled down her lip. A bruise was blossoming around her eye. "Can't go through with it?"

The boy grinned, a sickeningly psychotic grin as he raised his fist: "Good-Bye."

Thunder rumbled and resounded through the sky, joined with the sickening crunch of breaking bones as wheels skid across the wet pavement. Car horns blared and one solitary, bloodcurdling scream was heard above the chorus of destruction.

Mr. Dickinson finally found his voice, but every time he spoke it was the wrong language. Twisted sentences of nonsense fell from his stiffened jaw as he collapsed to his knees. He didn't know what to do. One of the men who had been driving leapt from his vehicle and whipped out a cell phone, fumbled with the number for a moment before rambling in nervous German into the receiver. All Mr. Dickinson could catch from the conversation was the Hospital's name.

The boy recovered his senses before the man, and stared down at the scene. His body suddenly seemed to shrink, his shoulders caving in as he began to shudder in attempts to fight down the bile beginning to rise and burn in his throat. Beneath Mr. Dickinson's watchful eyes, he staggered back, and the man understood his fear. Without glancing back, the boy fled, and disappeared down the stormy street.

The ambulance came and left quickly, and in that amount of time, Mr. Dickinson had managed to compose himself. Standing, he dusted off his pants and watched as the knot of traffic began to untangle, and the spectators began to leave.

His worries from earlier had vanished, eclipsed by his concern for the girl. With a body still numbed by shock, he retraced his steps hastily until he found his car. Quickly, he gave the chauffeur the name of the hospital and climbed in.

His thoughts were plagued with guilt, but he knew instantly how he could help. If she wasn't dead, he would make it up to her, let her blade as part of his team. Slightly relieved, he relaxed back into his seat.

All he needed to know now was who she was.

Authors Note: I only edited it a bit. The next chapter should be out shortly, I hope.