A/N: Foreword: The content in the chapter you are about to read contains a very sensitive subject: rape. Some of the content in this chapter can be considered offensive to some people, and I have written this chapter carefully, and I certainly do not intend to offend. I really took every consideration while writing this, so I encourage you to read on; you've survived everything thus far, haven't you? ...Now try to enjoy, please!

Chapter 9

Shit Veritably Hits The Fan

"Tenma," he started, his voice shaky and wavering with sadness that he was obviously trying to smother. "Please forgive me,"

She stared at him, her face a mask of forced contempt. The facade couldn't hold, though, and her features softened. Her eyes held no anger, only a measure of sadness and perhaps pity.

"It was all just a misunderstanding—I'm not a double-dealer," he promised, and he leaned into her, grasping her hands. "I love you—I love you with all my heart!"

She bit her lip to stop it from quivering. Tenma squeezed Kenji's hands and pulled them closer to her. "And I love you," she admitted, and her eyes became larger and glistened with emotion, as tears rimmed their edges. She was quickly enveloped in Kenji's tight embrace—and she hugged back passionately, desperately.

A sharp creak of the floorboards sounded, breaking the relative silence. Tsukamoto Tenma moaned quietly, turning over onto her side, her face a mask of pleasure, and she muttered "…Love you…"

Another creak, and that sound roused the slumbering Tsukamoto. She opened her eyes sleepily, and the tired slits became wide with alarm.

There stood Karasuma, the moonlight reflecting off of his pale skin, staring at Tenma. Oji loomed above her, a dark silhouette against the backdrop of the moonlight that streaked the night-dark bedroom.

"Karasuma," observed Tenma, bleary-eyed from just having awakened. Excitement from the unexpected arrival of her crush soon dissipated, though, replaced with confusion.

"What are you doing here?" she asked tiredly, rubbing an eye and rising to her elbows.

Karasuma looked from her to the ticking clock a ways away. "Five o'clock," he observed. He then turned back to Tenma. "Bitch-raping time," He advanced on her.

"What?" she asked confusedly.

Karasuma grabbed her by the arm and pulled her toward him. Taken aback and unwilling to cooperate at such a late hour, she pulled away.

Oji Karasuma grabbed her again, with both arms, tightly—painfully tight!—and yanked her toward him.

"No…" she whispered as she was roughly pulled to a sitting position on the edge of her bed.

Karasuma paid her no heed.

"No!" she said again, more forcefully. "Stop, Karasuma!"

Oji looked at her, unimpressed, and planted his hands on her hips.

"I said—!" she began to yell, but a hard punch in the mouth cut her off. One hand grabbed at her throat, and another took painful hold of a considerable lock of dark hair on her head.

"Shut your dirty whore mouth," Karasuma hissed at her, squeezing her throat and hair as he pushed threateningly close to her. "Don't make me go stupid!"

Tenma did become a little more lenient. "Please," she whispered.

Karasuma let go of her neck, then brought his hand to her face to brush the back of his hand against her soft cheek. His gentle touch abruptly became an iron grasp on her face, and Tenma thought that her jaw would snap apart from the force. To keep her in check, he whipped a backhand into her face, causing her to recoil and crumple down to her back. Stinging pain coursed through her face, and she grimaced as Karasuma's hand tucked beneath her chin into another firm choke.

Her breath came in short, labored gasps, unwilling to believe what was happening to her.

Karasuma looked into her terrified eyes and smirked. He found that he enjoyed the sight.

Forcefully, Karasuma tore Tenma's nightshirt open, violently dislodging buttons after a short moment of struggling with them. Once the blouse was ripped open, Tenma's bra was revealed in full.

"No," whispered Tenma, and Karasuma only snickered coldly.

He slipped his hand into his inner coat pocket and drew a small knife. Karasuma watched Tenma gasp in fear, seeming horrified, confused as to his intentions at the appearance of his weapon. Oji then slipped the blade beneath the center of the bra, and then proceeded to saw the undergarment in half.

The bra snapped free, and Karasuma wasted no time in smacking the material aside, revealing the small breasts of Tsukamoto Tenma.

Oji Karasuma eyed them hungrily—evilly. He replaced his knife in his jacket, never looking away from Tenma's trembling body.

Tenma's breathing became a fretful panting, and she bit back tears as Karasuma rubbed a hand about her chest—none too lightly!—feeling her breast.

To add to the oddity and confusion, Karasuma reached into his jacket again, and this time, produced a small packet of red curry sauce. He split the top of the packet between his thumbs and forefingers and hovered the opened package over Tenma's face.

He squeezed the curry from the packet, easily spilling the contents over one cheek, then the other. As there were a few drops leftover, Karasuma squeezed the remainder down onto her exposed chest.

Horrified, Tenma watched as Karasuma bent down to her face and lapped the curry from one side of her cheek, then bent lower, licking the curry from her breast.

Karasuma rose again and, seeming satisfied, licked his lips. He then brought his hands to the waistband of Tenma's pajama pants and started to pull them down.

"No!" she started to shout, and began to wriggle free of his grasp. Her hand shot out desperately, slapping against her nightstand, on which rested an alarm clock. Her slap had the mechanism clacking down to the floor.

Almost in panic, Karasuma reacted, seizing her arms in his hands and forcing them down to her sides. In his efforts, however, he bumped the nightstand as well, and that sent a small glass figurine crashing to the floor, breaking into many pieces, which scattered about the floor.

In a fit of rage that Tenma had grown to dread, Karasuma pushed into her, his one hand gripping her throat, effectively stilling her. "Not…another…sound," hissed Karasuma callously into her ear, putting special emphasis on each syllable, his anger evident in his frightening tone. His free hand came up to pat against his chest, where he had deposited his weapon, the silent gesture promising death if she chose to resist him again.

Still gripping her throat and with frightening speed, Karasuma forced her leggings down to her knees and pulled her terrified body closer to him. He proceeded by unbuckling his belt with one hand, and then yanking down his trousers.

Tears streamed her features as Tenma was held down, nearly suffocating under Oji's grip. She couldn't believe it—she honestly didn't want to—but it was real.

Absolutely, inescapably, painfully real.

She didn't make a sound, save for the sharp groans as a result of Karasuma's pelvis thrusting into her. Tenma only stared up at him, her mouth agape and eyes wide, completely paralyzed by the horror of it all.

"That's right," Karasuma grunted, smiling down at her wickedly. "Nice and quiet,"

Tenma continued to look up at the gyrating figure cruelly looming above her.

She could only hope that it would be over soon.

Harima lay awake, staring up at the ceiling of the guest's bedroom. He knew that he had to say something to Tenma soon, or her heart would belong to Karasuma. She had been kind to Kenji—kinder to him than he deserved, he knew beyond certainty.

Kenji didn't even know if she had even really forgiven him for that bathroom incident. She never really talked to him, and she avoided him for the most part.

A dull thud from upstairs broke Harima's train of thought.

It was late at night—probably four or five in the morning. For what reason, he wondered, might there be any amount of ruckus at this hour?

He almost disregarded it, until he heard another dull thud and the muffled sound of something—like glass—shattering.

Something wasn't right. Kenji Harima headed upstairs to investigate.

She wanted to scream, but she couldn't find her voice under the crushing pressure of Karasuma's firm hold on her throat. Even if she had the capability to do so, she was probably too afraid to, anyway. Tenma had discovered firsthand that Oji was possessed of a powerful strength of arm and was capable of murdering her with that wicked knife.

So there she remained, frozen, save for her limbs steadily shaking with horrified paralysis. She could smell the strong, spicy odor of the curry that dripped down one cheek, the other side smeared from Karasuma licking her—which had certainly heightened her terror and confusion.

The pain of Karasuma's unrelenting penetration was a harsh thing—but harsher still was the betrayal. Oji Karasuma had made her trust him (and that effect was only amplified by her existing love for him).

All thoughts of her own defense had long flown, and she now awaited the end. What would become of her after this, she wondered. She had heard of murder-rape before. Would gentle (if she could even describe him as such anymore) Karasuma, after violating her, subsequently destroy her?

As the mortified Tsukamoto Tenma contemplated her fate, her attention—and Karasuma's—was stolen by the door slamming open, which made a loud crack sound as it swung around and crashed against the wall.

Into the room emerged an insanely furious Harima, cracking his knuckles audibly.

"Karasuma!" roared the man in the sunglasses, and he charged at the rapist.

"Harima!" gasped Karasuma, his face showing his complete shock. "What are you doing here—?"

Harima's foot flashed straight out in a leaping circle kick, straight toward Karasuma's face. Karasuma brought his forearm up to block, but the defense was meager in comparison to Harima's brutal attack, the force of the kick even still taking Karasuma from his feet and sending him spinning sidelong, head-over-heels.

Karasuma bounced across the floorboards under the terrific impact and rolled away, grunting from the pain. Coming up to a kneeling position, he rubbed a hand over the side of his head, trying to soothe the throbbing pain. He shook his head to clear away the dizziness.

"What've you done to my sweet Tenma?" roared Harima, glancing at the disheveled Tsukamoto. Tenma was now in sitting position, her back pressed tightly against the wall, pulling her shirt tight into her chest to cover her sullied body.

When Harima's gaze turned back to Karasuma, the rapist had his pants up and fastened once more. "There's no way I can let you get away with this," Harima growled fiercely. "I'll never forgive you…"

Karasuma rose to a stand and fell into a crouch, coming into a fighting stance, ready to meet another charge from the enraged Kenji.

Harima came on again ferociously, but Karasuma was ready for him this time, and he ducked under Harima's powerful swing. He scampered around the blow and sent a quick jab into Harima's ribs.

Kenji Harima let fly another punch Karasuma's way, but the smaller man leaped back, just out of reach. Growling, Harima shrugged the pain in his ribs away and stalked in again, at the ready.

Harima suddenly charged at him, quick-stepping deftly to meet him, and he sent an uppercut that had Karasuma bending backward to dodge.

Karasuma's foot came up in a kick, but to his surprise, Harima caught it and tucked it into the crook of his arm. Harima pulled mightily, swinging Karasuma in a wide circle, then let him fly, and the angular tall and thin figure was sent sprawling onto his back.

In charged Harima, taking advantage of Karasuma's seemingly vulnerable state.

Karasuma was the quicker, however, and kicked out at Harima's legs. Kenji wobbled, but managed to keep his balance. Karasuma hooked his legs around Harima's ankles and twisted with all his strength.

Harima toppled over, crashing painfully to the wooden floor.

Karasuma leaped over him and pounded a fist down into his face.

With a roar, Harima shoved Oji to the side and rolled onto him, offering a similar pop in the nose.

Tenma watched in detached amazement as the fight unfolded in front of her. She was hardly aware of what was happening, though, for her traumatic encounter with rape had her paralyzed still.

Despite her shattered sensibilities, though, she understood that she was being rescued. Harima had come and had Karasuma pinned to the floor.

Momentarily, she looked down at her hands. They were shaking uncontrollably.

Inspecting her surroundings, Tenma considered slipping out of the room and running—far away from there. But she couldn't, she knew. Where would she go—where could she go at this hour, even?

She could only press further against the wall and watch helplessly as the two figures grappled.

Tsukamoto Yakumo sidled down the hallway, pressed up against the wall of the hallway.

She had heard some suspicious sounds coming from her sister's room. Treading with a sense of bravery, she had approached the door armed with a baseball bat, and she was determined to face the danger without fear—in protection of her home and her only family.

As she heard Harima approaching the door, she slipped back into the shadows, inhibition gripping her in that moment as the possibility of real danger dawned on her in full.

In the moment she saw Harima react so violently, kicking the door open and charging inside, she knew that there was grievous danger at hand, and all thoughts of engaging in an encounter surely flew from her as she considered the enraged Harima.

She thought to flee, but as she contemplated it, she knew she would be abandoning her older sister in what was possibly a dire situation—likely life or death.

Yakumo summoned up all of her courage and scurried up to the door, and retaining a measure of cowardice, she peeked around the edge of the portal.

She first saw Harima and…

Karasuma?

This was bad news, she knew, and she watched the two figures sprawled across the floor in a titanic struggle. Very real fear took hold, and she stared agape at the wild scene.

Taking her eyes off the battle, she quickly searched for her sister.

Curled up atop her bed in a sitting position, Tenma had her back pressed firmly against the wall, her knees up to her chest and her hands closed around her chest as well. Yakumo noted with alarm that a red liquid streaked Tenma's features, and she guessed that Tenma had been assaulted by Karasuma.

There was something about Tenma, she noted, an expression plastered on her face—an expression that Yakumo could only describe as dread; a desperate dread that stole the color from Tenma's face, and subsequently, from Yakumo's.

Horror.

Yakumo couldn't swallow past the lump in her throat.

A defensive hand clamped painfully around Harima's face, digging a finger in his eye and scratching desperately, shoving powerfully to get free.

Harima swung a fist into Karasuma's ribs, weakening his grip on his face. He then seized the arm and pulled the clawing hand away.

A hot pain shot into Harima's arm, drawing a pained howl, and as his arm shuddered back down into view, he saw that a small knife was embedded halfway in his tricep, Karasuma's hand still gripping the hilt. With a long moan of pain, Harima pulled away from it, slowly extracting the weapon from his arm.

One it was removed, he rolled away, but Karasuma leaped on him again and lunged. Harima, twisting onto his back, caught Karasuma's wrist and struggled to keep the blade from plunging into his heart.

They both struggled for a few moments, and eventually Harima had Karasuma's weapon pushed to arms length. With the blade now a safe distance away from his flesh, Harima rolled up to his shoulders and kicked both legs up, launching Karasuma up and over him.

The former delinquent twisted around and jumped to his feet, then spun to face Karasuma, who had similarly recovered.

Harima's sunglasses had been torn away during his long grappling struggle, and he could now see things in clearer detail in the dark. He and Karasuma slowly stalked in a circle, Karsuma waving his knife around threateningly.

Karsuma suddenly dashed at him, slashing his knife across Kenji's midsection, forcing him to jump back and suck in his gut to avoid being split open.

Oji snapped a kick to the inside of Harima's knee, and the man buckled to a kneel, then quickly fell backward and twisted around to narrowly avoid another swipe from the blade.

As Harima scrambled back to his feet, Karasuma lunged at him again and scored a hit, cutting a wide slash across Harima's back. He grimaced in pain, gnashing his teeth, and leaped away from his dangerous enemy.

"Bastard," muttered Harima, falling into a crouch. Suddenly, the pain of his newest wound setting in, he slumped weakly, feeling the hot blood trickling down his back, soaking his shirt with a dark red.

Karasuma, his victorious grin looking like the insane smile of a murder-intent madman, waved his knife around once more.

Harima, panting with weariness, his mouth hanging open, took a few moments to glance at Tenma, still flat against the wall, still stricken with paralyzing terror.

The purest, most wonderful, most beautiful girl in all the world had been brutally attacked and humiliated…and she needed him.

Growling and shrugging away the pain, Harima rose up to his feet again, his face locked in a murderous stare. He broke into a sprint at Oji, issuing a long, single-toned roar all the way.

Karasuma stabbed at him, and Harima threw his arms out wide to the sides, slapping the knife harmlessly wide—affording him a wicked gash on his forearm. But he didn't care; Tenma was the only person in the world that mattered at that point.

Karasuma's attack did little to slow Harima's momentum, and he was barreled over. Harima, straddling over him, grabbed Karasuma roughly by the hair and brought his fist back for a punch.

Before the attack was carried through with, though, Karasuma buried the knife hilt-deep into Harima's shoulder. Harima grimaced, but otherwise didn't seem too affected. He closed his hand around Karasuma's hand and slowly pried his fingers from the weapon's hilt. Once he had it firmly grasped, he promptly yanked it out.

With an enraged shout, Harima pulled his arm back again, then brought the knife's hilt crashing down into Karasuma's face.

Karasuma's head bobbed about deliriously, but Harima's rage was far from sated. He hit him again, and Karasuma's head bounced under the impact, and his eyes crossed, the blow hit him so hard it blurred his awareness.

I…I could kill this bastard…! thought Harima, his mind blurry with rage and violence. …And he deserves it… He turned the knife over in his hand.

He watched as Oji's eyes fluttered, likely slipping in and out of consciousness. He thought, through the haze—the red wall of pure rage and hatred—of the events that would inevitably follow if he were to dispatch Karasuma.

Harima would be criminalized—would go to prison, and be tried for murder. He would be evil—a killer. His career in comics would be over. He would never get his chance to be with Tenma…

It was then that Yakumo dared to enter the room.

"Tenma!" cried Yakumo, rushing to her older sister's side, crawling onto the bed with her. "Tenma," she said, stroking her sister's hair in an effort to console her. "It's okay—you're okay,"
Yakumo looked to Harima and spied the knife in his hand, and Harima, panting furiously and bleeding from several wounds, stared back at her pleadingly.

She knew what he was thinking. She was a truly good person, and although she knew it was tempting for Harima to finish off the intruder who had hurt Tenma so, she shook her head.

That was it, then.

Harima dropped the knife to the floor and turned back to Karasuma, who was now looking at him weakly, through one cracked eyelid.

Kenji Harima took a deep breath.

He let out a cry as he slammed one last hard fist in the rapist's face for good measure, and Karasuma knew no more.