Hello, everybody! And welcome to the final installment to this trilogy I've been working on, which you guys never even knew was going to be a trilogy! OwO Yay~!

Anyways, welcome to Zyro's Disrepute! The sequel to both Gingka's Deceit and Truth's Disgrace! You know, those two stories that ended with completely unfair cliffhangers and just so many more questions? Yes, those ones B3

The warnings for this story are listed below. If any of these bother you, I suggest you only continue at your own risk.

Warnings: Violence, Blood, Death, Murder, Suicide (mentioned), Attempted Murder, Psychotic Behavior, Insanity, Mental Torture, Emotional Torture, Physical Torture, Mental Trauma, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Depression, Medical Experimentation on Humans, Mental Experimentation on Humans, Kidnapping, Mind Control, Sexual Harassment (mentioned), Selfcest (implied), War, and Vomiting.

Disclaimer: I do not own Metal Fight Beyblade, all rights go to the rightful owners. I only own some characters and the plot.


Prologue


And again, there was darkness.
Darkness blacker than night, than abyss, than the void; darkness that could only described as 'nothing'. And nothing it was.
A nothingness, an emptiness, that he recognized only all to well. That came forward and reached out and embraced him as though he were a dearest old friend - and, in a way, he supposed that he was. It swallowed him whole, surrounded him, suffocated him, leaving an empty space where nothing existed except him. And him.
Seeing it again, Gingka was confused at first - but only for a moment. After that, his mind automatically switched all different ways and quickly came to a conclusion, had the answers that he, in that split moment of blissful naive confusion, had previously asked.

Why was he seeing this? Because you never left

Why was he here? Because you could never be saved

Why was this happening? Because he'll never let you go and you know that

And at that point, all the fear and talking and touching came back to him and the instinctual panic set in once more. He couldn't move, couldn't see but for the blackness that swallowed (him) everything. He did not have to look down to see that the chains, however invisible they were, were there, pinning him down and caging him like a wild animal; just as, in mythology, Bellerophon had done to Pegasus before setting it freeing it in their companionship.
This, however, was nothing like that.
This was not some heavenly Greek paradise where everything could work out in a hero's favor, not a place of light and hope and necessary bloodshed that ended in guilty remorse yet triumphant victory.
This was nothing. And with nothingness had Gingka become so dearly (help me) acquainted with.

"Now now..."

Came a voice that made him freeze to the core, that made all the hairs on the back of his neck stand up straight as arrows, that struck fear into him like no other thing ever could, "No need to be afraid, dear Gingka... It's unsightly." He could feel those hands on him again, radiating with overwhelming feeling that made him squirm and try to pull away uncomfortably.
He couldn't fathom it, any of it...
He had seen that face, heard that voice. He had always kept wondering before then why that voice had seemed so achingly familiar, so frighteningly recognizable and yet he had never been able to place it... Because it was his own.
And the human brain (granted he was not fully human) could not truly fathom hearing its own voice spoken, seeing its own face before it. And there was no possible way to ever get those images out of his head.

"I mean, really..." The creature, thing, doppelganger, said almost dreamily from behind him, and slunk around to the side, one hand on his shoulder and one on his arm, to peer at his face, "If you're scared of yourself, what does that say about you?... But, then again, I really don't blame you, since you should be..." His doppelganger brought his right hand up and cupped Gingka's cheek opposite him, drawing himself closer to the redhead's face. Gingka's eyes, wide, fearful, gazed at the other from the corner of his vision (don't touch me) before he looked away, tried to pull himself away in the same direction but to no avail. "It's always a disappointment, isn't it?..." The albino whispered sullenly, amused, in his ear, his face dangerously close to his own, "Always disappointing when you find out you're not all you thought yourself to be... It doesn't feel good, being trapped in here, now does it? Being all alone in here with nothing but your thoughts, realizing that nobody's coming for you!" The doppelganger laughed with a shrill joy, lined with insanity, craving ruin, tainted with hate, and then moved on over to the side of him, removing his hand from the redhead's cheek.
"But you're only getting what you deserve, after all." His voice was condescending, a calm and sweet torrent of sadistic torture that floated like a feather but stung like a swarm of hornets, "Just as you and your 'goody-two-shoes' father thought I was getting what I deserved." One white hand, (don't) skin as smooth as glass and letting off overwhelming vibrations into his skin, was brought up to the other man's head, gently petting his red hair and causing him to shiver with fear and an ever lingering disgust roiling in the pit of his stomach. "How does it feel, dear Gingka?..." The doppelganger asked leisurely, a light chuckle rising in its throat, "To know that everything you are, everything you're father told you you were... Is all a lie? That you were never really a normal person, never really a creature that should be able to bring love and life?... Yes, you always did love attempting to make things good, didn't you?" The petting of his hair stopped, and the other then moved his hand down to the redhead's very light-freckled cheek and pulled him closer to him, making Gingka let out a high, keening whimper of fear that was pathetic to all ears.
"He made you think that you were everything you weren't.." His voice wrote out the sneer that was on his face, the look of mad disgust in his non-reflective eyes evident, "And everything that he made you is a mockery of everything you and I are... But of course! No one likes a person who ruins everything - that kills everything they touch... Which is exactly what you are, dear Gingka." Gingka could feel the wetness of tears forming at the edges of his eyelashes, felt the overwhelming shame and repulsion that was built up inside of him, and looked away from the face that was his in a form of denial.
All that met his ears was an amused, delighted chuckle.
"Oh, poor, sweet little Gingka..." The doppelganger said with an air of mock pity, "You just keep denying everything... Don't you trust me?... After all, who can you trust if you can't trust yourself?"
Another laugh, and Gingka shivered violently (goawaygoawaygoaway) as the hand that wasn't on his head slowly slid up his arm to his shoulder, that pulsating sensation radiating through his clothing and to the fair skin beneath in a sickeningly gentle manner.

"Don't you know what you are?..."

That hand slid over to his chest, pausing there for a moment before moving slowly downwards and wrapping around his torso in a horrifying embrace where everything hurt and felt numb and he just wanted it to stop but it never would, he knew better than that.

"I know what you are..."

The clear, pearly tears fell unbidden from the redhead's eyes and slipped down his cheeks, staining them in their wake with the fear that was born of a deeper sort of terror that should not even be known by any being. The look-alike pulled his own face closer to the redhead's (don'ttouchmedon'ttouchme), his lips just barely brushing against the corner of those golden-brown eyes, wide and alight with fear and traumatizing panic.
"Would anybody even still love you after knowing you're not all that you seem?... I do have to wonder. But then again, what would I know about such things, right?!..."
A choked sob ripped its way out of Gingka's throat, and he took to simply staring forward, doing everything in his power not to look at that face (yourface) and willing it to go away go away goaway.
"Shhh... It's alright now... You don't have to cry for their losses... After all, how could they ever love you again?..." The doppelganger took the hand he had around his head and brought it over across his cheek, spreading snow white fingers across the pale skin to the corner of his eye and mouth. "After all, you're just like me... Which can you leave you rest assured..." A joyful madness, a thrilled insanity, in his calm voice, Mizarice leaned his head against Gingka's own.
"For I am the only one who will ever care... About all that you are..."
And once more, the darkness swallowed him...


All at once the world came back to him, and Gingka jerked violently in his bed as he shot into wakefulness in a sudden, startled panic. An upset gasp escaped his mouth in a breathless wave, and his eyesight blurred for a moment before clearing and revealing the white ceiling to his gaze. He lay there for a few seconds, rigid and motionless but for the rapid up and down movement of his chest from his panicked breathing, and did not dare make a sound for fear that something (someone) would go wrong and he would find himself in nothing but an illusion, stuck back in that place inside of him that he dreaded in his nightmares.

Three minutes - nothing happened.

Slowly and cautiously Gingka gripped the white sheets below him, then slowly pulled himself up into a sitting position. Fearful eyes glanced around the hospital room from where he sat, the white walls illuminated by the glow of the full moon that poured in through the translucent curtains over the window, muscles stiff and tense in his frightened state, wary of his surroundings.
Four minutes passed.
Nothing happened.
Gingka let himself relax while he shook, his grip on the sheets slowly loosening. He was here, in the hospital, not there... This was real, that wasn't...

(but it is and you know it)

The room was quiet, the small television of which he never actually watched now turned off - courtesy of the nurses, of course. The mirror across from him was also standing up and facing him again, also courtesy of the nurses... Gingka glanced at it once before looking away in fear of what he would see if he looked into the reflective surface for too long, and took to looking around the room. Everything was there, nothing was out of the ordinary...
This was real. This was real.

(but so is that and you know it)

He wasn't there... He wasn't there...
Shakily Gingka sighed, hugging himself briefly in the chilled shiver that came over him, the goosebumps on his skin visibly evident and uncomfortable.
You're okay... You're okay...

(no you're not)

He sat there like that for at least ten minutes without ever barely moving a muscle, staring down at the white sheets that covered his legs and listening to the unbearable and frightening silence that filled his ears with a ceaseless ringing and that voice again. Only when those ten minutes had passed did it occur to him that it would probably be best to go back to sleep - after all, 2:47am wasn't likely the right time to be up for the day.
Slowly Gingka eased himself back into bed and under the thin covers that he only brought up to his waist, pulling the pillows down more so that he could rest his head on them and stare off into the far side of the room. He listened to the silence that surrounded him in its overwhelming tyranny, heard the faintest whisper in the back of his head that he tried so dearly to ignore even though he knew he would only fall back in dreams of where it welcomed him.
It's okay... It's okay...

(no it's not)

Tears rolling down his already stained cheeks and wetting both his pillow and the bangs that fell over his face, Gingka laid there in endless silence and cried himself to sleep.