Sorry guys, I know I said I'd update every week and it's been two weeks.... and I've had this written for about three weeks... sorry about that. Not much else to say, enjoy!

Chapter 5

"...he's dead. Really dead..." Mail was on his knees, head buried in his rough, skilled hands. "...idiot. Idiot. Idiot, idiot, idiot! Cocky fool!" Mail roared the last word and abruptly stood, turning toward his father, who was pulling on his leather armor, preparing for the upcoming battle. "This is your fault! You didn't stop him. You could have but you didn't!"

The king said nothing, merely grabbed a sheathed longsword and a dagger, and strapped them onto his belt.

"Say something!" Mail grabbed Lawliet by his leather collar and lifted him off the ground. Mail was extremely strong and Lawliet was fairly light, so the feat was nothing for Mail.

A small, fragile hand rested itself on the red-head's shoulder. He turned and saw Nate's large, innocent eyes staring back at him, his head wagging subtly side to side. Mail dropped Lawliet and fell to his knees, not out of reverence, but out of grief. "Why... why did you let...?"

"Mail." Mail looked up at Lawliet's face, who knelt by him. He reached out and placed a hand on Mail's shoulder, then drew the young man in close and embraced him. "I shouldn't have... I shouldn't have... I'm sorry... I'm sorry..." he released Mail but didn't stand, just looked over Mail's shoulder over at Beyond.

"...I hate him. I hate him..." Mail's body was trembling with an uncontrollable rage.

"Do not hate him, my son. Hate me for making him what he is now."

"How can you even say that? How can you even ask me to hate you? You, who rescued me from the gutters of existence and the bane of potential; the streets."

"…he thinks I thought of him as an experiment… and in truth, I did… he and Aaron were both experiments… to see if it was possible to take children off the street and raise them as royalty."

"You don't really believe that what he's doing is your fault, do you?"

He said nothing, merely stood, gazing steadily at Beyond. "Of course I do. His ten minutes is up." He left Mail standing there, his heart broken, his anger bubbling just beneath the surface. Nate came and pulled him into a hug, trying to console him.

"Beyond! Your time is up." Lawliet's voice carried strong and firm across the battle circle, an attempt to make Beyond think that he was quite ready for this. He wasn't.

Why he was actually doing this was still a mystery to the king. He didn't want to kill his son, he certainly didn't want his son to kill him (although… even if his kingdom did succumb to Beyond's rule, it wouldn't be that much worse. However, Beyond planned on handing his kingship over to Light, who was a true narcissistic psychopath)… he wanted to capture Beyond alive. That, however, would be difficult, since even if he did capture Beyond alive… Mihael had been right about at least one thing, Beyond would certainly try to kill himself.

So Lawliet went into the fight with no straightforward goal; he would rely on his quick thinking and his heart.

And, of course, his fighting skills.

This wasn't how the monarch liked to do things. He liked it when events were lined up in logical order, with the ability to squirm if need be. This was totally out of his comfort zone.

Then again, anything that had had anything to do with his rebellious son had to do with going out of his comfort zone; he defined confusion in Lawliet's mind.

That object of confusion was now turning its head toward its father, a smirk on its face. …his face. He had been sharpening his scimitar, careful to make sure the edge wasn't too sharp, his wounds already bandaged. "It's actually been twelve minutes," was his remark as he stood and walked confidently over to his side of the battle circle, his boots making little sound on the ground.

"I was feeling merciful." The comeback was weak, but at this point Lawliet was concentrating more on how to succeed in the long run than short term banters.

"I thank you for that, then." Smirking, he drew his scimitar and bowed toward his opponent. "Good luck. Father."

Lawliet also drew his sword and bowed. "Good luck, Beyond." He refused to call the man 'son'.

Beyond took a single step forward, an initiative, daring the man across the ring to make the next move, his shoulders hunched slightly with an animalistic quality, sadistic sneer, scimitar hanging loosely in his grip, the blade barely touching the ground.

Lawliet didn't take the subtle dare. Drawing his longsword, he went into his fighting stance, longsword loosely in his grip, bouncing slightly on his toes, ready to move, but otherwise… he waited.

Beyond took a sideways step toward Lawliet, crossing his left over his right, then took one step directly forward. Beyond stared steadily into his enemy's eyes, trying to portray his thoughts through his piercing gaze.

His thoughts were indeed portrayed… the eyes set Lawliet's mind on a tangent, thinking about their past, the times they spent together, the tears shed and the feelings hurt… although such a phrase could barely describe the emotional turmoil that rested between the two.

Alone together in the garden, Beyond and Lawliet walked, their feet making almost no sound against the soft grass, delicately skirting the rough sticks and rocks scattered across the yard…

The tension in the air was practically tangible, smothering all within fifty yards of the dueling ring with a heavy blanket of raw yet untapped emotion. Energy was pent up in both of the contestants, one movement all it would take for both of them to erupt into a fierce engagement.

Yet all who knew them understood that the main conflict was not between flesh and blood… together they would battle their pasts, each other's minds, and in the end the one who could stand to the scrutiny and the marring of the conscience, whoever could hold himself upright after the mental and verbal struggle soon to come, who would still have the will to fight… the battle would be decided in the contestant's own minds alone.

With that fact concrete in the minds of those who it was relevant, Beyond struck.

It wasn't a strong, crushing strike, nor was it a swift thrust meant to get him off balance. It was a jeer, a taunt, a mental scuff, the verbal equivalent of are you ready for this? Why are you hesitating? Or perhaps less literally… do you remember me? Remember the pain you put me through?

Lawliet struck back in kind after parrying, a strike aimed at his head, but one he knew was easily blocked… guard your mind as well as your body. A feint to the side and then a thrust to the heart. Beyond sidestepped both. Your heart will break, Beyond…

I won't even oblige you with a direct answer to your proddings in my conscience. My conscience is gone.

The taunting continued for a few minutes, both warming their muscles up, more to Lawliet's benefit than to Beyond's. The first actual 'strike' marked a turning point in the battle. It came, unsurprisingly, from Beyond. After a parry, he thrusted forward, then used the parry to project his sword swiftly and powerfully toward his opponent's head; this strike made Lawliet jump and block, using his automatic reflexes and not the voluntary ones he had been using until now. They stood there for a few seconds, seconds which spanned a lifetime.

…why? Why are you talking with me now? You think one talk will make up for the years of emotional torture?

Backu-…

Don't call me that! Idiot! After all we've been through, when I give you a chance to make amends, you call me by that name!

….I do not love you. I never did. You are merely a successor…

Then why did you make me think you did?! Make me accept you as a father figure?! Make the bond then snap it so brutally. I'd rather you break my leg than have to go through that again.

…you were overzealous…

Overzealous? Please! I'm not even talking about when you brushed me off when I made suggestions about the kingdom. I'm not that much of a dimwit! That was only the beginning of the horrors you put me through. Do you even know what they did to the first few orphans who were taken in by you?

…I did. It was only to make you stronger…

I still bear the scars. The burns. I have nightmares about the branding every time the sun goes down, I can still smell my burning flesh, taste the smoke, hear my screams. …and you consented to it all.

…I did.

The lifetime ended abruptly when Lawliet shoved Beyond back, then swung at his head, on his toes, ready to move. Beyond didn't parry but leapt back and slid, kneeling slightly. Lawliet leapt forward and thrusted his sword forward. B stepped to the side, took his back foot and roundhouse kicked Lawliet in the ribs, diverting the sword's path right before it sliced through his abdomen. His leg hooked around Lawliet's trunk, his opponent's back to him, he pulled Lawliet closer, and almost wrapped his arm around the man's neck. Lawliet used his elbow to hit Beyond's nose hard and dropped to his knees, bringing Beyond with him. He rolled hard to the side, forcing Beyond to let him go, stood and looked down at Beyond, who getting up, blood running from an almost broken nose. He was grinning like an idiot. "Good… good, Lawli." He backed up, and they started circling each other. "I'm almost surprised you agreed to fight… never thought you were one for revenge."

"I'm not doing this to kill you, Beyond." The uninjured monarch matched his injured son's movements step for step.

"There is no other end to this, Father… one of us will die. And you know this. And you hate it." His words had an almost poetic quality.

Through gritted teeth, the monarch replied, "Not if I can help it… son."

"You have forfeited…" on 'forfeited', the jam-lover leapt forward and swung brutishly, yet he maintained easy control of the blade, "your right…", Lawliet parried the blow, "to call me…" then struck back with a side cut, "son!" Beyond ducked under the swing and rolled forward, wrapped his legs around his opponent's legs at the knee joints and swung his legs forward, causing Lawliet to buckle and fall backwards into the dirt, his sword and sword arm trapped beneath him, his legs entangled with his adversary's. Beyond wipped his legs around, releasing the other's knees, and rolled onto him, pinning him to the ground, one knee digging into his stomach, the other providing dug into the ground, providing him balance, one arm holding the other down, the other brandishing the scimitar a few centimeters from his father's pale neck.

Mail's anguished scream moved even Iblis.