Alright, I promised myself to make this, but the idea just kept bugging me. Basically, I was reading about the tsar and Russia around the time of the First World War. I already have problems with being inspired to write the important story I have going on, and yet I cannot help but write this three-shot! I feel so ridiculous for doing it, but maybe I just need a small break from Bound to Change. I hope it is so, and that I can write on with the other when I have done this.

Disclaimer: Don't own beyblade, nor any beyblade-characters or real people.

Warnings: Can be heartbreaking, a lot of deaths as far as I have planned.

I will say a few more things. This is about Black Dranzer, a thought that came into mind about how it became like that. One thing about Black Dranzer that always is in my stories is that it is genderless, and this story is specially made about its birth, its life before Boris and then the life after Boris. It is divided into three chapters up until now, but I may change it if I get more ideas than I already have. But now, I here give you first chapter of my three-shot.

The holy man

I am special. I am the defiance of nature, the fusion of opposites, good and evil, darkness and fire, love and hate. I am the strongest bitbeast ever seen, made from two feathers of the two of the most powerful, one the evilest bitbeast, the other one the kindest. I am the most powerful bitbeast on earth, surpassing both of my parents. I am the youngest of the true bitbeast and the oldest of the human creation. Yet I am under none of those categories. I am the bitbeast.

I do not remember my birth. But I remember the moments after. I stared up at the holy man, and he stared back at me. He had a beard, a big beard. And he was no ordinary human. The year in human standards was 1908, and for the first amount of time, he simply stared at me. And I stared back. I did not know him, and yet I did. He was my creator. I knew that. Though I do not remember the birth, already then, I knew I was nothing but the creation of two feathers.

Then, he said his first words to me, and though I was not even five minutes of human standards old, I understood what he said. "Welcome to life, little God-child." He told me he was not my creator, but that God had let him make me in his secret cellar, in a machine of glass and metal.

He was a very religious man, and very kind. I grew, lying in his bed, by his feet when he slept. He was away during the day, sometimes for weeks, but he always left me food enough so close that I could reach it in my little nest. When he got home in the night, he played with me, taught me to walk when that time came, bore me through the apartment so I could get to know my entire home.

He told me a lot of things. I became his diary, the one he shared his problems with. He told me about a Nicholas, one that the holy man was working for, and Nicholas' son Alexei and wife Alexandra. When I was two years, I had grown from the size of a cat to the size of a German shepherd, and I found that I had the ability to move into the world of the spirits. When you are in that world, nothing stops you. You are a ghost, but you still see the humans.

The holy man got scared. To him, it seemed I disappeared, and he became so confused he began looking for me seconds after it happened. He spent most of his time drinking, so he was not sober when I tried my new ability. When I came back and became visible, he took me in his arms and cried in to my feathers, warning me to never do it again because he did not want to lose me. I was moved. It was then I understood how much I meant to him.

When he sobered up, he was intrigued by my ability. Whenever he touched me, I could let him hear my thoughts, and I told him that I was still near. That I was simply invisible. He had been hiding me from the world until then, but now, he offered me to come with him, and at the same time see if I really could use my wings to fly. I said yes because he wanted me to, not because I was interested in seeing the world.

As I got out, I was not scared. Everything was new, but I looked upon it as if it was beautiful. I was met with a scene of winter and snow, everywhere, poor people wandered. The houses looked like ruins, much like the holy man's had been in the beginning, but I did not know the difference. Not until I saw the next thing, as I sat on his shoulders and he moved towards a palace.

The poor streets became rich carpets, great furniture and, when I remember the streets and the states of the average person, ridiculous expensive halls. But at the moment, I found it interesting. So many colors, and so many things I did not know how to use, and I asked my master so many question he could not help but smirk. I was nothing but a child, asking my parent why the cat was called cat, but he was a nice, indulgent parent, answering all my stupid questions.

When we reached where we were going, we had passed many guards, and a woman was following my master at his heels, her face desperate. Someone was about to die, and I did not know who, but suddenly, we stood in a small bedroom. In a big bed, a small boy was lying, and he was pale. My master commanded them out, saying the boy's best opportunity to survive was rest. When he was alone, he stood in front of the boy, stared him into the eyes and began praying to his God.

I did not understand, but I could feel the boy's sickness. I decided to help him, and flew off his shoulder to land of the boy's bandaged arm. I sought out the power I knew I had within me, and directed them into the boy. His body tensed, and for a second, I thought I had done wrong. But the color came back into his cheeks, and life in his eyes. And my master stopped his prayers, feeling that I was doing his job.

Every time the boy got sick, I followed my master, sitting on his shoulder. I still do not know what made the boy sick, or why he was living so rich and the rest of the people in the cold country were so poor. It seemed unfair to me, but my master just told me the boy was needed when he grew up. And I was satisfied by those simple words, because it was my master who said it.

I continued to grow. In time, my master no longer wanted me on his shoulders, and since he was drunk at the time he told it to me, he showed the feelings he would have a hard time to show when he was sober. He was crying. Because he was crying, I once again knew I meant so much to him, and his tears made me both happy and sad.

So when he put his holy hands on me, I told him it was alright. The year was 1914, and I was big. I think he had fought quite a fight to continue having me on his shoulder, knowing it was a special bond we had whenever I sat there, cause when he finally told it to me, I was by the size of a very big horse and nearly could not even be in his small, but fine, apartment.

He then told me he had to leave. Just for a little time, and that he would be back soon. I nodded. It was not a new thing that he left, and he always had a lot of food for me. When he told it to me, he normally would be away in anything from five days to two months, but he always came back. So I did not fear as he kissed my forehead, told how much he loved me, and then left out of the door to go into the cold weather.

I lived alone for two weeks after he left before something new happened. Strange men broke in to the house, and I hid in the world of the spirits. I watched as they moved in the house, and it looked like they searched for something. I did not like them, cause I knew all the important things the holy man had everywhere in the house, so I decided to take them away. And I did it by finding some of my powers and pushed them to the walls.

It was a thrill. To hurt them was a thrill. They were hurting my master, so I hurt them, and they stared around them without knowing what was happening. When I let them go, they fled like mice, scared and panicking. Today, I only regret that I did not kill them, but I was different at the time. Though I enjoyed their pain, I knew my master would be sad, and I did not want him to cry for anything else but me. If he did not cry because of the love he felt towards me, every tear that fell from his eyes burned in to my soul.

The men did not come back. At least not that I noticed. Because only two days later, I felt something bad. Somewhere between my soul and my body, I felt pain. And after feeling it for a little while, I realized my master had been injured, and I went in to the other world. There, I flew, and I flew through walls and furniture, looking for my master, following the path I could feel lead to him.

I left the city and flew over white snow and forests, not stopping for a second to look around and realize this was something I had never seen before. In my mind, the only thing I wanted was to find my master. I feared for his life, and I do not know if I even shed tears for him. I think I did. And I traveled over three thousand kilometers to reach him, and it took me twenty eight hours without rest or food, my every movement fueled by my fear, despair...

…

Yes, I did cry. I definitely did.

I was so sure to lose him, and it hurt so badly. Losing him... I could not take it. He was my everything, my true parent, the one who had given me life and the one who had taught me what the life he had given me was. I did not want to... lose him... ever.

I finally reached him, and was met by a bunch of people, who was sewing in the holy man and cutting and trying to fix a hole in his stomach. He had been cut by a knife, but I did not know that. All I knew was that he was dying, and that the people cutting and sewing were trying to help him. But they could not. Suddenly, the pain between my soul and my body doubled, and I knew why.

He was death.

I could not bear it. I would not let it be true. So as they began claiming he was death, I flew forward and placed myself on his chest, my claws digging in to his flesh from the other world, my tears staining his clothes. And then, the pain disappeared, and under me, I felt his chest move. I had brought him back from the death, and was exhausted after doing so. But I was happy.

When he awoke, he already knew it. He knew that I was his savior, and when we were alone, he said he never wanted me from his side again, for a woman had stabbed him in the stomach with intention of killing him. I forgot to tell him about the men in the apartment, too happy for his life to remember. So instead, I said to him that I did not want to leave his side, either. After his short amount of death, he always had a crutch with him. And he took pills against the pain every once in a while. But what interested me was the crutch.

I had trouble following him everywhere, since I still was growing. I had to move through big crowds to follow the holy man, so many people was always around him to listen to his preaches. It was hard. So I tried to find an alternative, and that crutch... really was interesting. One day, without even noticing myself do anything, I neared the crutch... and entered it. Suddenly, I could be with him everywhere without being in the way, because I was one of his things.

I listened to him preach about sins, a war, drinking, women. I was with him when he had fun with women. I was with him when he got drunk. I was there when he visited the mother of the boy and spoke with her about things. I was with him when he was by the boy again and I helped him heal the boy. I was everywhere, when people hated him and disappointed him, when they laughed at him or did not believe him, and when they loved him.

I was with him like that for two years. 1916. One day, he was invited to a palace for sweets, and though the holy man did not like sweets, he accepted the invitation. Now, I wish he never did. But I did not know what was going to happen, either, or that it would be there I fought my first battle. Nor did I know I would lose, and it would be at the greatest cost I could imagine. And I did not know it would change me.

It started well. There were many men, and they served him cakes and normal food. He ate it, and they talked as if nothing was wrong. They were nice, but as my master continued to feel well, they began getting uneasy about the whole situation. He was supposed to die already then, for the food was poisoned. And though I did not notice this, my powers prevented it from harming my master.

So when the holy man told he was about to leave, and stopped watching them because he took a glass of water for the painkillers he took daily after the first attack on his life. I saw one of them raise a gun, and I heard the shot, and once again, I felt that pain. That pain that seemed so much a part of me, but really was not. His pain.

They had shot him through his chest, and though he did not die instantly, the shot was bad enough to kill him. For that reason, the murderers left him. But luckily, his hand was cramped upon me in the crutch, and I kept him alive despite the wound. I kept him alive for ten minutes, before his body gave in. And when it did, I forced him to live once again, and he asked me to take over his body and lead him to a doctor. That would be his only chance.

So I did. I went in to his mind, and forced his body to move, the only pain I felt despite being in his body the pain in the bond we had. I got him to his feet, and used the crutch to drag him toward the door. Unfortunately, one of the men had come back, and I have no idea why. When he saw my master stand up and live, he gaped for so long I had time to jump forward. I attacked him instinctively, trying to protect my master. He fell backwards, and I won the first round.

Second round, he got help. Before I ready to attack again, the rest of the men where back, and they fired at men. Three shots in my master's stomach, and I felt the light in his candle go out again. But... my master... he had to live. So I defied nature once more and breathed life into his body, using all my strength to do so. And I took over his mind again.

When they saw my master fight to stand once more, they were scared. I do not know if they think it was the Devil my master often spoke of who possessed the body, but they were backing away at first. Then, as I jumped forward again to get my master through the door and find a doctor, they took my masters arms and legs and confined him, binding him with a carpet. I continued to fight, not admitting defeat, despite the battle was already lost then.

The only reason it was lost was because I had brought him back from the death twice in a row. It takes up most of my powers, and two times within an hour left me tired and exhausted. And that I was using his body did not help, either. Had it been another situation, even if my master had been so lucky he did not die twice, but only once, I would have been able to save him. But now, I could only watch as the men took my master outside and threw him into the river.

Under the water, I still had control over his body, and I got out of the carpet. Over me, ice was, and still with the crutch in his hand, I swam up towards the surface. I fought. I fought and fought and fought, tried to claw my way through the ice with his nails. Had it been my own claws, it had been no problem. I could have done it easily. But my master was a human, and his body became more and more stiff in the cold, his nails broke against the surface of the ice.

Yet, I did not give in. I could not give in. I was so certain I would get him out of the water and find a doctor. I think I continued for a whole hour, forcing his body to keep alive and forcing myself to revive him whenever he died. I cannot count the amount of times he died. I cannot decide how many minutes, hours, I tried to get him up. I do not know how many of his nails broke or how much blood came from his fingers and in to the water.

The only thing I know is that it stopped when I dropped myself.

I had put the crutch in his belt, always making sure it was touching him so I could maintain control over his body. But in my fight, when the sun began to rise over the horizon and I could see the sky grow red and gold from under the ice, one of my movements got too violent. And suddenly, I lost connection with my master's mind and realized I had hit the crutch, and that I was dropping down to the bottom of the river.

Over me, my master himself fought on the fight I had fought for him until then. I saw how his movements were strong in the beginning, determined to live. I saw how the cold slowly overcame him. I saw how the already blue fingers stopped moving. How his body slowed down. How he began sinking from the surface of the ice, despite his hands still reaching up to continue to scratch on the ice. And I saw as his last breath left his mouth and a bobble and reached up to the ice, where it, too, was trapped.

He was death, and I just stared at him, my mind crying and my body too exhausted to fight on. From the bottom of that river, I saw him float over me. My parent, my master, the holy man, so unmoving and death I just wanted to scream. I wanted to help him, I wanted to move, but my continued revivals of my master had left me so drained I did not even have enough power to leave the crutch and materialize as the black phoenix.

I could do nothing. For three days, I lied at the bottom, waiting to become strong enough to begin the fight once more and show my master, that I loved him just as much as he loved me. But at the third day, someone moved up there. A face, the face of the mother of the sick boy, looked through the ice and saw the holy man, and a flock of people began breaking the ice that I was not strong enough to break.

They took him out of the water, but left me. I continued to lie down on the bottom, my first, and most important battle against someone lost, and the cost had been him. It took me another half a day to finally get strong enough to leave the wooden crutch, and hidden in the other world, I dragged myself out of the water. I was too weak to fly. Too weak to use my legs to walk. Yet the only thing in my mind was finding my master, and I dragged myself through the streets, using my instincts to search for him.

The way I moved forward was by the wings and my legs. I moved like I was a four legged creature, because I had used so much of my strength on him. But I found him. After searching for who knows how long, I dragged myself to the right house and saw a lot of people standing around my master. He was lying in a bed-like thing, and there was a great metal box in front of him. They were about to push him inside it, and I did not stop them.

I just dragged myself over his body and did what was the only thing I could imagine doing. I revived him once again, as I felt the people push him and me in to the box and close the door just as he began moving. They did not see him move. They did not see him live again. He opened his eyes, and for some weird reason, he was able to see me sit on his chest, despite me being in the other world.

I know now it was because he was about to die.

He just smiled at me and sat up a little, the people behind us watching in surprise as the dead man seemed to live. But he just smiled. Either his body was too messed up, or I prevented him from feeling the pain when flames consumed his body. Yes, all he did was smile. I cried, and his hand lifted itself up and slowly wiped away the tears, as he whispered to me: "You did good, little God-child. You tried to save me till the bitter end. Do not waste your tears on me."

I did not follow his last words. I had cried for him before, but it was nothing like this. Before, I was never sure if I actually did cry. If tears really fell from my eyes. This was the first time I was sure I cried... and the last time I would ever cry. No, cause no one can fill the hole in my heart that he left, and no one can make me happy as he did, and no one will treat me as nice as he did, and I will never feel love for anyone else. The holy man is irreplaceable.

And I lied there, burning with him, and though the flames did not harm me, I knew I burned with him. My insides burned, my soul, my mind. I burned, and when we both stopped burning, the only thing left was my body. And as the flames stopped, and when they finally opened the door, I saw two of my master's murderers standing beside the mother of the sick child. Acting as if they were feeling sad for his death, too. And it was then I promised myself I would forever revenge the holy man's death.

I would cause suffering to every man, woman and child near me. It would be my goal in life, and when every human being one day is death and gone, my revenge has been fulfilled!

First chapter done. It was as good to write down as I imagined, even though I should not have done it -.-' I should try to continue Bound to Change, but I guess I cannot really concentrate at the moment. But I promise anyone who read BtC that I will finish it in time ^^

I hope you will review this one. I normally don't ask, but it helps my inspiration in general, and I will be able to finish chapters faster, if you do so. I think that is the normal thing with reviews, is it not?

Enjoy in joy ^^