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Defective Tragedy: Chapter Two

By: Ryoko (Lewd Concubine)

Aoba opened his mouth to say something, but at that moment the low throbbing bass cut out leaving nothing but the suddenly deafening silence.

Aoba looked around Akira and saw something he never would have expected.

Blood everywhere. Bodies piled at Arbitro's feet. Mink warding off a smaller, katana-wielding man dressed all in black.

"Wha-wha-WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?" Arbitro's screech filled the room. His eyes were almost as wide as Aoba's. Before Aoba could process anything further, a rough arm dragged him back into the bathroom.

"Don't make a sound." Akira's tone was severe enough to register through the shock.

"O-okay." Aoba's voice felt small even to him. He let Akira back them both into a stall and shut the door.

Akira kept his knife out as they strained their ears for the slightest sound. Ages passed, maybe longer. Aoba's legs shook. Sweat perfumed the air.

Finally, Akira pulled back the lock and peered into the bathroom. He held a hand up for Aoba to wait and slowly walked toward the exit. Aoba watched in silence, unsure whether to follow. After a few leaden moments he started after his friend. Akira soon turned and nodded. His posture was still tense but not nearly as much as before.

"Let's go."

They emerged into the once luxurious club, now battered and torn. Aoba spotted Mink, but there was no sign of the bodies. The scary guy who'd attacked him was already gone too. Aoba stared at the long, crimson line running down Mink's arm until Akira grabbed him. He knew it was a pointless worry considering everything, but he still…

"We have to find Koujaku." Akira snapped him back to reality and he nodded. Aoba let Akira guide them out of the once decadent fetish club and onto the landing. They climbed the stairs one level up to the regular sex club and found a similar scene of carnage and ruin when they searched inside.

"I think I'm going to be sick," Aoba said, after spotting a piece of gore that the clean-up crew missed.

"Let's go. He's not here."

Aoba followed Akira up the next set of stairs, both his sickness and worry mounting with each step. What if Koujaku had been in there when it happened? What if he was-

Aoba didn't want to think about it. He couldn't and he wouldn't. Not now, when there was still hope.

They had to find Koujaku.

He and the pale-faced Akira searched both remaining levels in The Palace to no avail. Tears were just starting to form when Akira suggested they make one more round starting from the bottom up.

"Okay." Aoba's voice was small and wavered. They headed back down to the fourth level once more. Shameful memories chased Aoba everywhere he went. Mink had...right there…

Aoba blushed crimson despite his worry and regardless of the circumstances. He pushed the sensation down quick enough but he was sure Akira saw. Yet Akira didn't say a thing. He was too busy staring at an opening that Aoba didn't notice before. A red velvet rope hung in front of the darkened hallway.

"Do you think he's down the-" Before Aoba could finish the sentence he noticed a trio of dark figures coming down the hallway at them. Akira's hand went to his knife and Aoba tensed. When the figures came closer, Aoba realized that two of them were women and the third looked to be some kind of security personnel. He relaxed until he recognized them.

"Hey, aren't those the girls from earlier?"

Akira frowned. "Yeah." He approached the trio without hesitation. Shock kept Aoba still for a split second before he followed.

"Where is our friend?" Akira could be downright scary when he wanted. The security guy and one of the two girls glared. The other smiled. Aoba would have thought her cute with those dimples at any other time. Now, that smile just seemed predatory.

"Well?"

"Who?" said the much taller, glaring girl.

"Koujaku," Aoba said, at last.

"Listen," said the smiling girl, "I don't take names."

"And I don't kiss and tell," said the other one.

Aoba thought he could actually hear Akira grinding his teeth. He stepped in again before Akira's brusque manners could scare them.

"Listen, we don't care about what happened before. All we want is to find our friend. Look around. I'm sure you can understand why. Can you please help us?" Aoba thought he might have gotten through even a little bit but then they seemed to notice the blood stained door to the club. The two made to hurry off with the security guard but Aoba stopped them once again.

"Stop," he said, using his Voice once more that night. The trio halted as quickly as if they'd hit an invisible wall. "Where is Koujaku?"

"He belongs to Ryuuhou-sama, now," said the taller girl. She clapped her hands over her mouth afterward and ran as if chased. The other two followed suit. Aoba shouted, but even his Voice couldn't penetrate the hands covering their ears nor bring an end to their screeching.

"Who the hell is Ryuuhou?"

Akira shook his head. In front of them, the dark hallway beckoned.

Aoba exchanged a glance with Akira, who clenched his knife firm in his hand. They ducked under the rope and started down the hallway.

It took Aoba a minute, but his eyes adjusted. He found that it wasn't actually pitch black or anything, just darker than even the low lit landing. They passed several red-lit rooms, one of which was filled with bizarre drawings, including a picture of a man bristling with so many needles that he resembled a hedgehog.

Aoba's unease grew with each step they took toward the spiral staircase at the end. He couldn't believe there was actually a fifth level down in this place. He knew Arbitro was a deviant and likely a criminal, but this seemed a bit much. He tried to reason with himself. It was probably some kind of staff breakroom or at worst a place to store Line.

Nothing could have prepared Aoba for the solid wall of individual cells they found deep in this dark, still corner of The Palace.

Aoba glanced inside the first one and flew back to smack against the opposite wall. He couldn't get the image out of his mind and he doubted he ever would.

The hedgehog man was real.

Shock kept Aoba paralyzed as the blood in his veins iced over. He opened his mouth but no sound came out. Or, at least, he thought so at first. Then Aoba realized that the thin, terrified animal noise was coming from him.

It took Akira-who in retrospect, Aoba would find, was much paler than normal, slapping him for it to stop.

Aoba blinked, the sting fierce and real and immediate.

"A...kira…" He swallowed. "We have to...Koujaku."

It was hard for him to form a coherent string of words, let alone thoughts. Of all the things he had seen since coming to the palace, this was by far the worst.

It was just the first of many such cells. And they had to look inside each one in case Koujaku couldn't hear their calls.

Aoba's whole body trembled at the thought. But he wouldn't give up. Not on Koujaku. Never.

"I know," was all Akira needed to say.

They made their way cell by cell, looking inside and finding many more horrors. Akira took the lead and spared Aoba the worst ones, though nothing could erase what he'd already seen.

They called for Koujaku, but there was no answer.

Then, finally, just when Aoba was trying and failing to imagine a world without him, they turned they passed through the doorway at the end of the cellblock and Aoba thought he heard a noise. It was faint at first, but then resolved into Koujaku's deep, masculine voice. Screaming and...moaning?

They broke into a run.

.

It was impossible to tell how long he'd been there. Time was a relative concept. Koujaku came to define it by whether or not Ryuuhou was busy stabbing fire into his back. Thus far, there had been eight sessions, though Koujaku couldn't have said how long they lasted. Nor could he have measured the breaks in-between.

There was no clock in this opulent, red-stained room. The drugs with which Ryuuhou continually injected him distorted even his internal one.

Koujaku could not tell if it was night or day. All he knew was pain and temporary relief. Ryuuhou would work on him for an indeterminate amount of time and then stop to rest his hands. None of the reprieves were for him. That much he knew.

This Ryuuhou-the man had been only too happy to tell him his name-was a sadist. Koujaku fought not to cry out each time his wicked sharp tool pierced his back, but it was a losing battle. With no other outlet for the intense agony, he ended up using his voice.

Koujaku couldn't even turn his face into the pillow or bite his knuckle, which would surely have been bloody and raw by now. No, the drugs paralyzed him and left him able to feel everything.

A true sadist's dream concoction.

Koujaku would have been absolutely certain he wasn't the first one even without Ryuuhou's nonstop monologue about the beauty of his other "works of art."

With each bit of ink etched into his skin, Koujaku felt that much more of his soul slip away. He was angry, livid even. But more than that, he was ashamed.

Somewhere along the line, the pain had become almost pleasant to him.

It was the worst sort of degradation imaginable. Koujaku had always harbored a fierce hatred for those pigs who took advantage of the fairer sex. But at least victims of that kind of violation would have a chance to move on and rebuild their lives. Koujaku was going to be stuck with these perverse markings until he died. He would never be allowed to forget. A part of him would always belong to Ryuuhou now.

"Your skin is so beautiful, Koujaku-kun." The man whispered this in his ear tenderly, as if they were lovers. "But I'll make it even more pleasing."

Koujaku felt the words seep down inside of him. They settled like dead things.

"I'm going to kill you." The anger was still apparent in his voice, but it contained something new now.

Koujaku began to cry out in a very different way soon thereafter.

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"Here," Akira said, as he passed him an issue of a foreign magazine.

Aoba clutched his knees to himself harder. He didn't otherwise move.

Akira just set the magazine down next to him.

Aoba's fingers dug into the fabric of his pants. He stared off into the dark, rotting corner of the room. It wasn't like he could read English anyway.

"How can you be so calm?" he asked, finally.

They'd had to make a quick escape after the Executioners showed up. They hadn't been able to save Koujaku, after all. Aoba couldn't erase the tormented image of his friend's face from his mind. That monster had been- had been-

Aoba buried his face in his knees. His eyes burned but no tears came out.

"We'll get him back." Akira's voice was still too calm.

"Even if we did, he'd never be the same. You know that."

"Even so," Akira said, and then was silent.

Aoba startled suddenly at the thought of the stoic, dispassionate Akira now being so unusually vocal. He picked up the magazine and did his best to tear it in half. When Aoba couldn't even accomplish this, he threw it into the musty darkness. It smacked against a wall and flopped onto the floor. The pages fell open to a picture of a tattooed person and Aoba saw red.

Everything felt out of focus. Aoba couldn't wrap his mind around what had happened. He lapsed into silence. Akira didn't say anything either, and eventually the two drifted off into a troubled sleep.

Aoba awoke with renewed purpose. He nudged Akira.

"Hey, let's go. I've got an idea."

Akira nodded and rose to his feet. The two set off for the district border while Aoba explained.

"We've got to get everyone involved," he said, referring to Beni-Shigure and Lost Dogs, their respective Ribsteez teams. It would be one of the most embarrassing things ever, but they were beyond that now. And as much as Aoba valued his friendship with Koujaku, he knew Koujaku's "family" would miss him even more. It would be unforgivable not to enlist their help.

Akira and Aoba fast made it to the Northern District's border, but a curious thing happened when they tried to cross it. One second Aoba walked like normal and the next it was as if he ran into an invisible wall. Aoba flew back and landed on his ass, Akira not in much better shape.

He sat dazed for a second before trying again. This time, Aoba stretched out his arm in front of him and went slower. This time he felt the barrier although he still couldn't see it.

"Shit. I thought only Igura participants couldn't-"

Behind him came a noise. Aoba whirled to find Akira pressed against the wall by one of a number of unfamiliar men.

"Hey," said the burly man, "hiding your tags's against the rules."

"Let go," Akira said, before Aoba could pipe up. He gripped the arm pinning his neck to the wall. Akira's eyes were like steel, the scariest Aoba had ever seen him. "We're not participants."

That inspired a round of raucous laughter from the surrounding men.

"Just how fucking stupid do you think we are?"

"Let him go," Aoba, said, using his Voice. "We're telling the truth."

To his shock and dismay, none of the men seemed to Hear him. Aoba froze, but didn't have time to be unsure as the first guy came at him. He was unprepared and ended up backpedaling into the invisible wall and then getting zapped forward by it.

By the time Aoba recovered his senses and fighting spirit, he had received several more blows. Still, Aoba managed to fight the first guy off. He was a panting, aching wreck.

Aoba stared at the guy on the ground and kicked him over onto his back.

"That means I won," he said, drawing on what he'd heard about the game. "Now get lost."

"Ahhhhh, that hurt." Aoba turned his shocked gaze onto the guy he'd just beaten up. The man rose to his feet and chuckled as if he hadn't just been worked over. "No fair."

"Since you don't play by the rules, why should we?" Their sneers turned more ominous and soon three more came at him.

Aoba saw Akira fighting his way free through the barrage of arms, knees, and legs, but wasn't able to get past the increasing number of people between them. He held his own but knew he couldn't last forever against these seemingly tireless guys.

Aoba took punishing blow after punishing blow and gave just as good as he got, but nobody seemed to feel it. This wasn't good. They needed a way out.

Aoba saw an opening and took it. He shoved past the men attacking him and rammed himself against the one attacking Akira.

"Run!"

Akira didn't have to be told twice. Aoba was right behind him, and so were their pursuers. Aoba could hear their footsteps and curses.

"We've got to draw them apart," Aoba said. "I'll go right, you go left." It was an old strategy, but one he hoped would work.

Akira nodded and they peeled off at the next opportunity.

Buildings flew by, glass crunched underfoot, and still Aoba could hear them following. He thought his sides would split and gasped for breath. Then he saw his opportunity.

Aoba ducked around a corner and grabbed a hanging ladder. He climbed almost faster than his feet could carry him and quickly pulled it up behind. Then he began to pound up the steps toward the roof. Aoba froze when he heard the men get close. He held his breath as they ran under him and didn't let his muscles relax until they were out of sight.

Aoba climbed up to the roof and then flopped on his back. He lay there for some minutes in the quiet before checking his coil and realizing it was broken. Aoba cursed and sat up. Without Ren and his coil, he was all but blind. He didn't know how he'd find Akira now.

Aoba waited until he thought it was safe before venturing out onto the now dark streets. He crept from one building to the next, trying for a glimpse of Akira. All in vain. Eventually, the chill of the streets and the creepy feeling of being watched sent Aoba inside.

His hunger and thirst, aches and pains, kept him awake late into the night. Eventually, Aoba found rest, but not before planning his next move. It was useless to look for Akira in such a big place. They would never find each other. But he did know of one person he could find who might be able to help.

Mink.

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It was easy enough for Akira to escape his pursuers. Harder, though, to deal with the men he now faced: Arbitro and his Executioners.

"You stood in Shiki's way and survived." Akira didn't know what he was talking about at first but gradually it dawned on him that he meant the mass murderer from the club.

Arbitro's high-pitched voice grated and the lecherous look he gave Akira made his skin crawl. He didn't say anything. The only reason he was even still standing here was because he knew the Executioners would stop him if he tried to leave. They hovered by their master like dogs spoiling for a fight. The bloodlust radiating off the two was incredible and certainly nothing he wanted to mess with.

"Not a talkative one, are you?" Arbitro smiled and Akira tensed. "Well, that's okay as long as you know your place."

"What?" Akira's throat was dry.

"From this moment on, you'll be participating in Igura." Arbitro dangled a string with five tags in front of him.

"What?"

"Dear me, it's a good thing you have a pretty face." Arbitro pinched the bridge of his nose and tilted his head back. The Executioners chuckled and jeered.

Akira stared at Arbitro in utter incomprehension.

"What do you want from me?"

The blonde Executioner chuckled harder and gripped his sides.

"Hey, watch it with the claws!" The other one gave him a shove. Just like that, the two started arguing.

Arbitro still smiled, but now it seemed forced. After a bit he turned to them and snapped, "shut up!"

The blonde scowled but they both obeyed.

"I've already told you what I want, Akira-kun." Akira shuddered at the slimy feeling he got from Arbitro saying his name. He had no idea how the man knew it but he didn't like it.

Things were getting more complicated by the second.

"Why?"

"You don't need to know."

Akira gritted his teeth.

"And if I say no?"

Arbitro just smiled. He didn't say anything. He didn't have to with the blonde dragging the back of his blades across his throat and sticking his tongue out.

"You don't get t' say no to Arbitro-sama." The blonde Executioner dragged out the title and chuckled as if he'd just made a hilarious joke.

Akira weighed his options. Finally, he held his hand out and took the tags. That seemed to please the man.

"You're smarter than I thought. Oh, and there's just one more thing. A test."

Arbitro sprayed something in Akira's face before he could ask what that meant and he went down, down, down.

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Akira woke up in a skirt.

His mind grappled with the idea of it at first but when the fog cleared it was still there.

The fabric was pink with little red hearts.

Akira stared.

Then, calmly, rationally, he looked around for his pants-

-all in vain.

Akira thought about taking it off but realized with dawning horror that his underwear was gone too.

The Northern District was not an easy or kind place. He imagined he'd last all of twenty minutes before prospective rapists descended upon him with or without the skirt. He wasn't sure which would lessen the odds.

In the end, Akira decided to turn the skirt inside out. Beige was a much better option than pink for keeping his virginity. The hearts still showed through though. Akira tied his jacket around his waist as a further disguise. It helped, but not enough to make him confident. He tucked all his tags inside his shirt for lack of a better place and headed out.

Akira kept to the shadows as he headed for the closest neutral zone. He didn't believe in God or fate or anything like that but that didn't stop him from praying to whoever was listening that he could make it without being seen and also that they sold pants there.

He wanted no part of Arbitro's test, but this was nothing he could help. Before Akira could ponder this any further he passed in front of a dark alleyway and the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.

"What are you doing here?"

The voice came like a gust of wind out of the shadows. Akira almost didn't hear it through the sudden downpour accompanying the words, but when he did his body froze and he automatically grabbed his knife.

Akira managed to get it up just in time to block Shiki's katana. Metal screeched as he fought the sudden onslaught with all of his might. Yet it was a losing battle.

Fortunate that Shiki seemed to notice the skirt at that moment. A look of revulsion passed over his hard features.

"In that."

"What?" Akira ground the word out on pure reflex. Water dripped from his soaked hair and into his eyes.

"Disgusting." Shiki's blade squealed against his trembling own. "You're lower than a dog." Shiki grabbed Akira's throat and squeezed while still keeping up the pressure on Akira's knife. His eyes widened, but he couldn't stop it. He was using both hands, everything he had, just to keep the katana away.

At this rate, he was finished.

That strong hand on his throat squeezed harder. Akira saw spots and felt his strength falter and with it, his hand. He almost closed his eyes, but Akira was never one to back down-especially when it came to this man.

Shiki's lips curled into a cruel smile almost as if he sensed the thought. There was a deafening sound and Akira registered Shiki's katana buried in the wall beside his head. He belatedly realized his hand had dropped. He didn't have the strength to raise it.

"Who...asked...you…?"

Shiki was still smiling and, as Akira was coming to know, this was never a good thing. He felt through the numbness a force ripping at him and then he was on his hands and knees in the pouring rain. Akira was just glad to catch his breath. He didn't realize what had happened until the wet fabric against his ass registered.

Akira looked up to find Shiki with his naked blade in one hand and the jacket in his other.

"You want it back?" Akira's jacket hovered in front of his face. He could almost touch it. "Beg me."

When Akira didn't seem ready to comply, a smirk drew those cruel lips upward once more.

"Rebellious."

Shiki let out a bark of laughter and tossed the jacket over his shoulder like a prize. His slow, measured footsteps took him farther out of reach until all Akira could hear was his heartbeat pounding in his ears amidst the rain. He stayed like this until he could muster both the energy and the dignity to stand before moving on.

Akira arrived at the neutral zone shop soaked and bloodied. And still in the skirt, wet now along with the rest of him. That had been Shiki's final insult to him, to leave him in that after taking his jacket. The humiliation burned his cheeks up, but he knew he still had to endure this last public display before he could curl up in a ball and disappear.

"I need pants."

"Uh-huh," the shopkeeper said, as he looked him up and down. Akira's cheeks flamed harder. All traces of his usual stoicism were gone. He felt raw.

When the shopkeeper had his fill, he produced a pair roughly two sizes too big for Akira. He slid over the required pig tags anyway and took them, ignoring the hot eyes he was getting from some of the other men. They couldn't touch Akira here and he could hold his own once properly dressed.

Akira retreated to a nearby stairwell to change. Neutral zone or not, there was no way he was risking the bathroom. This was fast becoming the worst day of his life, rivaling even the one previous, and he didn't want to make it worse.

Akira felt much better in the pants, ill-fitting though they were. His spirits lifted until he tried to use his coil and realized it was broken. There was no way for him to contact Aoba now and he knew searching would be useless. Akira didn't know how much time had passed but he was sure it was too much. He was cold, hungry, and still tired from whatever drug Arbitro'd dosed him with. Akira sagged to the floor and eyed the shining tag now lying openly on his chest. He had to take care of himself first. Then he would find Aoba.

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Thanks for reading! As always, I welcome any comments, questions, and suggestions. I put this up unbeta'd and in a rush after getting the last of it written so please forgive any mistakes (and feel free to point them out to me!). I may come back to edit it later. We'll see.

Happy September! Enjoy (or not) the skirt. I'm laughing evilly right now just so you know.

Until the next installment wherein Mink is an asshole and Shiki is, well, Shiki.