Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing or it's Characters…if I did I'd force Cartoon Network UK to put GW back in the 5:30 slot.
Warnings: Angst, Gore, Yaoi –Major violence in this part, you have been warned--
Notes: A big Thank you to Aciel Skadi and Slate for giving me this idea to use. Also another thank you to Aciel for beta reading some parts I was having problems with.
Who Cries for Wufei?
Part III
Trowa was looking intently at Wufei hanging from the centre of the tent. His wrists were bound in chains and hung from a metal hook. The small tent was empty apart from the two men and a metal box.
Wufei was still unconscious, and his feet dangled a few inches from the ground. The prone body swayed gently…
Time passed before Trowa finally decided put his plans for his captive into motion. He eyed the strong Chinese features on that face he hated so much. That perfect tanned skin, sleek ash coloured hair—it made him feel sick.
He reached into his back pocket and pulled out some latex surgical gloves. The Latin man snapped them quickly on. After flexing his fingers once, he pulled back his fist and hit the high cheekbone as hard as he could.
"Wake up!" Trowa shouted as Wufei coughed and reeled from the punch. Dark eyes opened groggily and tried to focus on the person in front of him.
Trowa waited patiently for the other man to regain consciousness. Wufei's eyes finally recognised his captor and choked out his dry throat, "Trowa…what are you doing?"
The green eyes glared coolly at Wufei, curtly answering "I'm surprised you can't guess, after what you done."
The bright lights that illuminated the tent finally got the better of Wufei. Almond eyes closed and Wufei's brow furrowed. "I-I…didn't-"
But Trowa quickly cut him off, "You didn't what? Murder my sister?" Wufei shook his head; the movement made him sway more and the chains grind together. Trowa held Wufei's chin, before he continued, "I saw it with my own eyes Wufei. I saw you smear your dirty heritage over such a savage act like some mark of pride."
The Chinese youth's eyes flew open at the mention of his heritage. He was forced to look into those green eyes, hot anger flaring up within him; "It is a dishonour you speak of my clan like this! Unjust that I am being blamed for a crime I did not commit!!"
Trowa let go and turned his back on Wufei. "You talk of honour and justice; yet what I saw done to my sister contained none of that."
Wufei forced his temper down, then tried again, "Please Trowa, I'm telling you…I did not murder Catherine!"
But the Latin man did not appear to be listening, as he walked to and crouched beside the mysterious metal box. It was the type of large tin used to keep ammunitions in. Wufei could see Trowa had released the lid and removed an object, although it was hidden from Wufei's sight.
Trowa calmly and slowly walked back to his hanging captive, keeping what ever he had hidden in his hand. Finally he stared directly into Wufei's dark eyes and said, "You shall wear the mark of your clan. I shall make you taste the same brutality you have shown others."
Wufei was about to start his cries of protest again, when he saw what was Trowa's hand. It was a stainless steel surgical scalpel, and it shinned menacingly in the artificial lights.
Trowa quickly tore off the shirt covering Wufei's muscled chest. The tattered cotton fell to the floor and he absent minded ran his finger over the smooth skin. His eyes glinted up quickly, casually adding: "I know my sister never had the chance, but scream all you want, there's no person for miles. My character writing is a little rusty after all."
The tall man plunged the scalpel into Wufei's flesh, his exterior remaining an emotionless void. The Chinese man sharply inhaled at the pain, biting his lip to stop himself from crying out.
Slowly the scalpel moved in a downward stroke, before being lifted off. The skin pulled apart, and a few seconds later crimson started to gush from the soft pink tissue. The blood gathered at the bottom of the cut, before slowly making it's way down Wufei's chest.
The scalpel was pushed into the flesh again and carefully swiped to make another gash. The process was repeated over again several times. The pain had just turned into a sharp throbbing, and Wufei had no idea what Trowa was trying to carve. The Chinese man clenched his fists and held his eyes closed tightly
Soon there were many red paths flowing over the skin.
Trowa stood back and looked at his handiwork. "How have I done Wufei? I hope I'm getting the stroke order correct."
Wufei dare not look down at his torso, being mesmerised by the red covering the steel and latex stretched over Trowa's fingers.
However Trowa abruptly moved forward to grab Wufei's hair. Making the bones crack in the dragon warrior's neck, Wufei was forced to look at the mess.
The blood was starting to look shiny and thick, clumping together as it clotted. Wufei winced when Trowa's hand smeared the blood away, revealing the fresh gashes underneath.
"Is it correct Wufei?"
He could only remain silent as he recognised the cuts as Chinese characters…and their reading.
"What do the mean Wufei?" Trowa's voice held fast still to an unnatural calmness. The former heavy arms pilot pushed down harder on his captive's head, making it clear that silence was not an option.
Fury built up in Wufei at being so helpless, and he screamed, "It says Dragon Clan you bastard!!"
Satisfied, Trowa let the silken hair go. He returned to the box and searched within it again. Wufei panted and glared at his back.
The blood on his stomach and chest felt cold as it dried and caked. The pain had subsided to a harsh sting.
Trowa had turned around and Wufei nearly choked at the object he carried in his hands.
It was his sword of the Dragon Clan. The bloody fingers clenched the scabbard and sword handle, cleanly pulling the unique blade free.
The metal glinted with an ethereal aura. Trowa dropped the highly decorated sheath to the floor, and lifted the point of the sword to Wufei's neck.
"To die by your own sword. You shall die how you lived, with dishonour."
Wufei closed his eyes, steadying himself for the cold bite of metal, and the release it would bring. He wondered if he was worthy enough to join his ancestors…
But a voice that wasn't Trowa's flat tone spoke, "I'm afraid I can't let you continue Trowa." This was backed up by the unmistakable click of a gun being cocked ready to be fired.
The imprisoned warrior wearily opened his eyes to see who this new person was. Was it his saviour or a new executioner?
The ebony gaze fell on the figure, and the gun that was trained on one of the other occupants of the tent.
To Be Continued
Author's notes:
Guess you'll be getting updates like this from now on, since I've had to return to college again. Sorry if it's too short, perhaps I just like to leave cliff-hangers.
Feed back is most definitely welcome…did I go too far with the violence?
