Okay- I'm insane. 8] I'm moving this back here- figured there's nothing really to lose. ^^;

Sorry about all the trouble!

-----

"We can't just leave Murata here!" The helpless king thrashed wildly at the bind of his muscular bodyguard whose job was to keep him from running away.

Another day in the enemy's land trying to find a way to peace, and they were again about to be captured. But this time, there was no Conrad in the other side to fight for them if necessary. And everyone other than the maou was aware of the danger of being caught again. But the only one that was actually caught was Murata, the sage. The rest were binded by the mere fact that he was in a verge of having his head cut off.

"Whining isn't going to get you anywhere! Now leave!" Murata sighed, closing his eyes against the jolt of pain from the tight bind hastily applied to his wrist. Again, the party was separated while making a get-away. Yuuri and Yozak stood together, Yozak with his king in a semi-headlock to keep him from making a mad rush. Further down the dirt paved road laid Murata with a soldier straddled over his waist. Another soldier stood nearby, clutching a sword a few centimeters away from the captive's throat.

"Don't move! Drop your weapon!" The soldier with the sword screeched, jabbing at Murata's throat, the tip of the metal barely glazing the white skin. Eyes wide, the Daikenjya barely suppressed a gasp. Images flooded his mind of some time in the past, which he attempted to shake out without avail.

"Don't listen to him!" He shouted, trying to smile assumingly to his friend. "It won't do to get you caught again, Shibuya. We can't risk having you in danger again. Now, Yozak, GO!"

"Shut up!" The soldier atop him jammed down his knee into Murata back, forcing a groan out of the Daikenjya-reincarnation.

"Murata! Murata! Don't make me do this! You know I can't do this! Yozak, for god damn sake, let me down!" Yuuri kicked harder, but Yozak seemed not to even have felt it. The size difference was evident, as was the difference in power. The thin, frail demon king could not possibly win at a muscle match with the broad-shouldered man.

"Sorry, bo-chan." Yozak grunted. "Right now, I've got to do what's right. We've followed your lead before, but it just doesn't work out well, you know? It always just ends up us all being caught. And right now, that's not such a good idea. They're coming close. Now come on…" With a heave, he threw his king onto his shoulder, making it so that he was able to start running whenever necessary.

"Wait! Stop! I said stop!" The soldier shouted, obviously not expecting this change in situation. They were always told that there was no way the foolish king made an escape when a hostage was taken.

At the same time, Yuuri was still struggling atop of his own soldier that was refusing to follow his orders.

"You can't even listen to your own king?" He hissed, beating down on the red head soldier. "Let go! I said let go!"

"Do you not care what happens to him?" The soldier screeched, glazing his sword across Murata's shoulder blade, slitting open the boy's brown shirt, exposing white skin that began to leak out blood from the thin gash. Murata began squirming under the bind, but the guard on top of him had his hands behind his back secure under his knees.

"Murata!" Yuuri screeched, beating down on the red head. But it was of no use. Yozak had already leaped into the air, swiftly maneuvering through the woods atop trees, carrying his king with him.

"This is going to be a little rough, but you have to excuse me. I don't usually have extra loads on my back."

Those left behind looked on open-mouthed. For the first time, the king had left without taking back a hostage. The king himself seemed bothered enough, but his servant was not about to risk his master's life again.

Only Murata smiled in an awkward way, not sure whether he should be proud of his soldier's quick thinking, or depressed for being left behind with the Shou Shimaron soldiers. But it did not matter what happened to him. He had no great powers as Shibuya did. Nor was he of any use except for with his knowledge. The kingdom would not miss him as it would miss Yuuri. After all, most of the nation did not even know about the reincarnated self of the Daikenjya.

Murata was violently picked up by one of the soldiers and thrown into a wagon. Another soldier came in behind him, and shut the door, signaling to the driver from the window to go. Glaring at Murata, the soldier crossed his arms, bouncing in rhythm with the jolts of the ride.

The other soldier rode his horse alongside the cart.

The rocky ride to hell had just begun for the captured teen.

Soon enough, or perhaps too soon, the wagon made an abrupt stop, and the soldier on horseback dismounted, pulling the two horses into the stable area while the other dragged out his prisoner into an impressive castle.

Even in his horrid situation, Murata marveled at the unique structure that allowed for such a magnificent castle that was in front of him. It was far greater and sophisticated than the castle he usually found himself to be, and much more elegant.

He found himself being dragged down a fleet of stairs. After a few flights, light barely filtering through from crude windows signaling the end of the actual castle. There were torches lighting the way in intervals, but hardly enough to light the way comfortably.

Couple doors down, the Soldier kicked open a wooden door and shoved Murata in.

"You useless piece of crap!" He spat as he threw his prisoner into the stone ground, slamming the heavy door shut. "Thanks to you, the Demon King got away, and you can pay for it. At least, if we have you, maybe they will come sooner or later to get you. If, they even care to risk that."

Murata Ken groaned remorsefully, not yet fully recovered from the stab in the shoulder or the recent drop onto solid ground. Thanks to the ordeal, his glasses were shattered, and shards of glass dug into his face, barely missing his eyes.

"Agh… Now look at what you did…" The soldier growled, pulling up the boy by the hair, poking at his face to let the pieces fall out. Shaking his head as if he actually cared, the soldier tied his hostage onto a chain link dangling from one of the walls. "Don't move," he warned menacingly as he stepped around the debris and out of the dungeon room. As the clicks of the soldier's heels became faint, Murata breathed out, glad that at least for a moment, he was given peace to think things over.

He knew, from his past life that being imprisoned, especially by a soldier, never led to anything desirable. The last time, a few generations back, he was taken as a prisoner of war in World War II, and the torture the man suffered still gave Murata chills.

"Don't think about it! Don't remember anything. Don't think about anything… It'll be alright." He muttered to himself, finally remembering the pulsing pain in his shoulder blade. The bleeding seemed to have stopped, but from the way the scar prickled every time he moved, the wound was to crack open anytime now. "He'll come for me…." Inwardly, he wondered, who's "he"?

Murata glanced around halfheartedly around him, his vision blurred from the destruction of his glasses. He did not have his contacts on, thus having black eyes which no one seemed to have noticed as of yet.

The door creaked open once again, and from the shuffling of the feet, there seemed to be more than one back. He strained his eyes to try and see, but without avail. His eyes were quite useless without his glasses. He suddenly wished his friend was here to see for him, but if he were, he would hardly be sitting here with him. They would be in the gallows by now. In that sense, he was lucky. If being imprisoned in an unknown military point could be called lucky. The soldiers seemed to think of him as just some random Mazoku that the demon king had taken a liking to, and would come to rescue.

Even though he did tell him to leave him, Murata secretly hoped he would come back to get him. Which he knew his friend would do. No matter what the price. Which would be a reason for his downfall if anything. He smiled bitterly at his own selfishness.

"Over here… Clean this up, will ya? The kid just went ahead to break his glasses and now it's all over the place. Oh, him? Ya... I picked him up on the way back…"

Only vaguely listening to the conversations taking place before him, the teenager tugged a little at the chain that was holding him upright, kneeling on the hard ground. His legs were falling asleep, and it was painful to sit there in such a position.

Again the door opened, this time slowly and silently. A new figure entered, walking delicately towards the small crowed. Instantly, the soldiers righted their positions, standing erect. "Your highness… Why are you down in such a disgusting place? This is not fit for such a noble one as you, Saralegi Heika…" The first soldier, blushing, spoke up.

And indeed, the room was hardly a place for a king of a country to be. The walls were not clean, to say the least, and the ground was dark in places where blood had dried and soaked into the wood.

"Who is this gentleman here?" The king asked, his cool eyes looking down at the dazed boy who was still trying to see something despite the fact that he couldn't see anything. His small tinted glasses made his eye color undetectable, but if you weren't nearsighted, you could see a smile forming at his lips.

As if he only meant good for the world.

"He is the prisoner of the damned Mazoku king, your majesty," the soldier replied, not moving a muscle. "We failed to capture the king, so we brought him back instead. We did not count on the fact that he would run away and leave a hostage behind…"

"I see…" Saralegi stepped up, his movement swaying the robe behind him. "May I see him alone, please?" He fluttered his hand to show them that they were not welcome in the room anymore. The soldiers ran away hurriedly.

"Well, that solved that problem, did it not?" Saralegi smiled, walking closer to the captured boy. "My, your clothing, hair and eyes. They are beautiful shades of black. I have always thought that black was such a horrid color until I met your friend. I am sure you know Yuuri? He is your king, is he not? I have always thought that those clad in black were few in this world, but I have been seeing quite a few these days."

He ran his manicured hands along Murata's cheeks, raising his head so that their eyes met. Murata, finally able to see his captor's face, glared back fiercely.

"And who might you be?" spat the black haired boy, squinting again to see the blond boy's face closely. His golden eyes looked back without a hint of annoyance, still smiling.

"I am Saralegi, the king of Shou Shimaron, the Great Sage of Shin Makoku," Saralegi crooned, his cold hand still caressing the boy's face. "What beautiful face you have."

"Don't touch me," Ken growled, trying to move away from the delicate fingers. He could not move. Every movement brought new pain to his shoulder and body and the more he struggled, the less he was able to move.

"Are you hurt?" Saralegi asked, peering into the other boy's pained face. "What is wrong?" He touched lightly on Murata's wound, causing the other boy to shudder in pain. The cold touch sent a shiver down his spine. "Should I take the chains off?"

He tapped at the chain connecting his handcuffs to the wall. Having his hands tied behind his back and chained to the wall was not comfortable, and Saralegi knew it.

His warm expressions were replaced with those of colder ones. He was still smiling, but not affectionately. He was smiling because he saw the pain in Murata's eyes.

Saralegi tenderly walked over to a corner and opened a box. Compared to the rest of the room the box seemed new and well kept. He brought it over and placed it in front of the boy so that he could see the box without being bothered with his poor eyesight.

He stroked lovingly at the lid, and opened them.

He brought out a chain with something on the end, which to Murata's disdain, seemed to be a leather collar. "Isn't it beautiful?" Saralegi asked, holding the gleaming chain up to Ken's face. "And see this? It's made of the finest leather."

With a swift motion, he strapped the collar onto Murata's throat and locked the ends up with a bolt. He smiled lovingly. "And you look beautiful as well," he remarked. He held up the chain and placed it besides him, taking out yet another object from the box.

He unhooked the handcuff from the chain, and twirled the key in his hand.

"Shall I take your handcuffs off?" He asked, taking pleasure in Murata's attempt to mask his desperation.

He slowly unchained the boy, releasing him from his cuffs. Murata shuddered, his hands pulsating with blood that was denied to them earlier. He was unaware of what the king was doing, and quite frankly, he couldn't have cared less. He swung his arms in front of him; dropping to his hands and knees, sweat pouring down. Though the situation had not changed, his body was thankful for the release and expressed its relief.

He rubbed at his wrists red from the rope, and began to lift his head when the realization hit that his movements were suppressed. The king of Shou Shimaron stood over him, a gentle yet cruel smile on his lips, his eyes dancing in pleasure. He had one foot on the chain that lead to Murata's throat, forcing him to stay down on his knees.

"I can't let you move freely you know. Who knows what you might be inclined to do?" He kneeled down onto the cool floor with one leg, and once again lifted the young man's face.

"Now… You know what I want, don't you, your highness?" He crooned, stroking the soft flesh of his captive's face. With his trimmed and manicured fingers, he slowly etched a line onto his cheek, leaving a welt to form.

"No, I don't. And even if I did, I wouldn't care to tell you," Murata spat, annoyed by the whole situation.

"My. You are very charming when you are angry," Saralegi smiled amiably. "What I want is to know is your Majesty's weak points. He was charming too, when angry."

"And you think I'm going to just tell you? There is no way you can force that out of me. Shibuya is very important to this world. He is going to be the one the world has been looking for. And there is nothing you can do about it, Saralegi," he sneered, glaring back up at the young king before him.

"Of course, when I am done with you, you might be inclined to speak," Saralegi replied, eagerness dancing in his golden eyes. "You see, I have very weak eyes. But that is only in the light. As soon as the lights are gone, I can see better than anyone else. And that includes your face in pain, my dear."

"Shibuya was right. You are one sick person. You disgust the human race…" Murata's disgusted voice turned into a groan as a foot with a gracefully decorated shoe embedded itself in his stomach. He curled up clutching his stomach.

"I hardly think you are the one to talk, your highness," he spoke as he made an emphasis on the last part.