Hi ho This is going to be my first chapter story in a long time, I hope I finish it... I really would like to finish one. The plot isn't mine per se, it was taken from a Korean movie called 'Old Boy' and it's a very good movie too. I just added a slashy PoT twist and I hope that it has turned out alright. I've never really tried taking a plot from something else so blatantly before.

Warnings: There will be sex. There will be some terrible language. There will be lots and lots of blood. If you are the type to get icked out by my detailed gore please do not read. Any scenes that are too sexual for (and I will tell you when it happens in a note), the full version will be livejournal at under Fallblossoms.

Truth and Vengeance

Part 1: The Beginning of the End

The white silence holding the air was eerily still. It was a pause in time that would go on for infinity should the bookmark of his apprehensive calm stay withered in place, unlived by the proof that this was happening, the need for this -any of it- to be real.

It was a crudely bound book that told his story -pain, just agony that made his vessels throb as blood, burning and frighteningly hateful, was pumped through by his cutthroat adrenaline junkied heart. Where the pages old and stained were held captive by a breaking stubborn spine, and the faded and tattered leather cover remained untitled as this story continued out unfinished within the enclosed shadows of secrets and hidden truths. And should the book go up in flames, the pages crinkling in a golden brown like his eyes, it'd become his tomb too, the scrawling of victories, hardships, pain, and insanity shrivelling and releasing life through cracking, licking heat. If it were to turn to a haunted and abysmal black --ashes-- everything he'd done would've meant nothing. His dark history would be nothing but a nightmare, the lies becoming a reality as truth to them is only what they believe and know. His story must live, must speak truth, must survive this peak moment that raged on his nerve endings like viral wounds.

Survive and tell. Now.

His skin felt numb. There was a certain potential energy pulsating in the still air; not at all as stale, old, and worn one would think. His eyes felt wide in their respective sockets, his mouth dry with the spit foamy and airy. His hands trembled slightly all the way up the arms to the body erratically, making him ache as the shaking fought against the stiffness of his muscles, tight with anticipation and an ignored inkling of fear.

The beating of his heart rang loud in his ears, bu-bump, bu-bump, ancient and hollow like echoed guttural wails in a slick pitch black cavern. Bu-bump, bu-bump, crashing against the harsh pants of breath. Inhale, ba, exhale, bump, inhale, ba, exhale, bump…

His chest ached from breathing, lungs forcing the air out before properly settling in, afraid the air would freeze once not in motion, stopping sweet breath and the very thing keeping his heart within the confines of his body.

And he stared straight ahead, his wide eyes dazed but seeing so clear like a new babe fresh from the womb, taking in the world and everything that it is. And no matter how wide they were, he couldn't seem to take in everything fast enough. It was as if he'd finally caught up to reality, and he was finally seeing more than four walls, one bed, one bathtub, toilet and sink. More than a simple empty desk and chair and TV set with only 5 channels. He could smell more than a musty old room and any raunchy smells he himself provided if only to have something besides his own crazed mind. More to taste then rice and miso soup, water, apples and salad, those pork dumplings that branded its own personalized place on his tongue. He could feel more than disgust and bugs on his skin and hear more than his insane wails that never left his ears.

Reality was here, woven around him, a wave rushing over and in him and everywhere in-between. It didn't matter that he'd roamed free from that hell hole for two weeks now, treading on streets and talking, god damn having conversations with someone other than the voices shrieking bloody marry in his head. Didn't matter at all, because for those two weeks he might have as well been still in that room, knowing nothing, having nothing, everything nothing. But now, at this very moment, he was free and becoming something. Truth and knowledge dangling so invitingly from that mans soft unmoving tongue. What he wouldn't give to rip it out and extract from it what he needed until it was left a bloodied mangled thing…

That man (socloseandhecouldn'twaittomakehimbleedliketheothersohGod), he was finally right there in front of him. Closed eyes and easy smile gracing his features, treating this like it was nothing, his pain nothing, his unfathomable fury and absolute insane hatred were normal occurrences; and to that man, it could be too, that sick twisted fuck of a man.

It was nothing but a game to that man. The moment he had strode into the Atobe office building and was lead to the penthouse on top by Kabaji, he had the fucking nerve to be asked to wait momentarily while that bastard of a man went to take a shower. And he waited because he had waited thirteen years for this, he could wait a little longer. He just needed to know. He needed to know why.

He had counted seven minutes and twenty-three seconds before that man emerged in expensive black silk. Sleeved button-up, slacks, and tie. He had turned to him then with those calm, easy facial features. A bit of teeth peaked through the smile to taunt him as he acted unfazed by the dark looks, telling him his killers intent was mere child's play.

He almost snarled in an ugly manor.

He wished he still had his hammer with him. Unlike his appointment Kirihara, who he had mercilessly wedged thirteen teeth out with the hammer (one for each year he kept him caged in that hell hole room) he wanted to pry out all of his teeth until there were nothing but bleeding gums, and perhaps bash them in for good measure with a pleasant smile. He would make him bleed agony once he beat the truth out of him.

"Hmmm," that man mused, inclining his chin towards him.

He narrowed his eyes at the man in front of him sharply. It would began now. Soon truth would spill freely and smeared with blood. There would be gore and torture and agonized screams. He would finally become that heartless murderer that they all thought him to be, that they had labelled him long ago.

And he couldn't wait.

"Sa, we finally get to settle matters now. Don't we, Ryoma-kun. It really should be Echizen I suppose, but with how I've been watching you so intently all these years I feel as if I know you better than anyone else." That voice was still gentle and filled with cruel amusement.

He couldn't help how rough, callous, and unintelligent his words sounded, coherency was far beyond him.

That coherency that came with sanity was ripped from him long ago.

And it was all that mans fault.

"Fuck you Fuji!"

I hope to update this sometime soon. Thoughts? Opinions? Feedback?