Breaking Point
by Kimura
Chapter 3 - Falling

Genrou groaned, coming back to consciousness. His head was killing him. He moved to rub his temple, only to find that he was having trouble moving his arms. His eyes shot open.

"Fuck!" he cried, seeing chains encircling his wrists. He tried to get up quickly, then realized it was a bad idea. He ached all over. He sat up, a bit more carefully and looked around.

He was in a cell with a heavy wooden door and a tiny barred window. There was another small high window on the other side of the room. The room was cold, dark, and damp. The chains attached to his wrists gave him some mobility, but weren't long enough to allow him to stand.

Shit, he thought. That son a bitch caught me. Fuck. Why didn't he just kill me? I would've drowned anyway. What's up his sleeve? His thoughts turned to Kouji. No . . . shit! They all must think I'm dead! That means they won't coming looking for me . . . shit. I'll have to get out of here on my own. He pulled against the chains, but they didn't give one centimeter.

The door to his cell opened.

Genrou tried to jump to his feet, forgetting that he couldn't stand. "You fucking bastards! Lemme go!"

"I see you're settling in just fine," the man said smoothly.

"Makara," Genrou growled. "You made them think I died, didn't you?"

"They won't be coming for you, if that answers your question."

"Why the hell are you keeping me? What do you want from me?"

"You will find that out soon enough. Be patient, my friend. You won't be going anywhere soon." He turned to leave. "I just came to check on you. The guards will be attending to you for the first week or so."

"They'll come for me anyway!" Genrou cried out, trying to be defiant.

Makara turned. "If you believe that, then you're less intelligent than I anticipated."

~~~

It was almost two full days before Kouji came out his room again. A small group of men had sat beside the door, patiently waiting and planning what to do if he didn't come out.

"Are you all right?" Tyoushi asked.

Kouji nodded. He hadn't eaten, slept, or bathed since he'd barricaded himself inside. He looked slightly distracted, but decidedly in control of his emotions. His body was another matter.

Tyoushi reached out and caught him just before he collapsed to the floor. "Go get some food and water!" he ordered some of the men. Tyoushi and another bandit helped Kouji to his feet, then to a chair. Kouji shook off their assistance once he was seated.

"Is there anything we can do?" Tyoushi asked gently.

"Bury his clothes," Kouji answered hoarsely. "Near the other Leader's grave. And . . . the tessen."

"But Kouji --" another bandit started to protest.

"No one else can use it anymore," Kouji barked in reply. "A spell was put on it." Kouji ran a hand through his tangled hair, quickly regaining control of his emotions. I have to be strong in front of them, he told himself. "And I want as many men as we can spare out looking for Makara. I want to know what his next move is."

A bandit came back in carrying some food and set it down on a table next to Kouji.

Kouji just looked at it.

"Eat it," Tyoushi said sternly. "You need to get your strength back."

Kouji nodded. I'm not gonna let Makara win, Genrou, Kouji vowed silently. I will avenge your death.

~~~

Genrou was thrown back into his cell, barely conscious. One of the guards chained him back up.

After a minute, Genrou slowly sat up. His blood had stained the floor in places, though it was impossible to see in the dim light. He leaned against the wall, trying to get his breathing back to normal.

Fucking bastards, he thought. They drug me and then sic five guys on me at once. They didn't even give me a chance to fucking fight back. He rubbed at a bruise that had begun to form on his cheek. What the hell does Makara want from me? If he just wanted to beat the crap outta me, why doesn't he just have me killed? That son of a bitch's got somethin' else going.

Wincing at a pain in his side, Genrou looked up at the moon through the tiny window. Kouji, you've gotta somehow know I'm still alive. Don't give up on me. Please.

Genrou instinctively growled as he heard the guards laughing outside his door. Next time, they won't get me so easily.

~~~

Kouji managed to successfully take control of the Mt. Reikaku bandits once again and led them with confidence. His spies had no success in gathering information on Makara. It seemed as though the rival bandit had decided to drop out of sight completely.

Kouji knew he wasn't gone for good.

He had recurring nightmares of Genrou's death. Sometimes he dreamt that Genrou was still alive. Other times, Genrou's ghost came and blamed him for his death. He had never slept well since the incident, but he never showed any weakness in front of his men.

On the whole, the bandits were relatively successful. They had enough food and supplies. Things seemed to be going well. They were sad to lose Genrou, but found strength in Kouji and carried on, as Genrou would have wanted.

Kouji still felt an emptiness inside him, knowing that the score was uneven. He needed to get even for Genrou's death. He knew it was the only way to get the nightmares to stop and to feel whole again.

~~~

A week and a half later . . .

Genrou half-dragged himself, half-crawled out of the building. He leaned against the building, gratefully taking deep breaths of free air.

He looked around at his surroundings, disappointed to see that he did not recognize them. I'll get back to Reikaku somehow, he thought, determined.

His stomach ached terribly and he knew they hadn't fed him in at least three days. They probably try to keep me weak so I can't try something like this.

It was sheer luck that he'd gotten free. The guards had been very drunk and had forgotten to chain him up or properly lock the door. Either that or one of them was on his side. Yeah, like that's real likely, he thought.

He gasped as hands grabbed him.

"We've got 'im," a voice shouted.

Genrou was forced to his feet. "LET GO OF ME!" he screamed, fighting against them viciously.

"Bring him downstairs. He needs to be taught a lesson." Genrou could hear Makara's voice, although he couldn't see him. He was too busy trying to free himself. There were at least four guards forcing him back inside the building.

Not when I was so close . . . Please, Suzaku help me!

The guards forced him into the dungeon and brought him to the room that was typically the site of Genrou's daily beatings. However, this time things were different. They lifted him up onto a wooden table and chained him to it, face down. He struggled for a moment against the chains, then quickly realized that there was no escape.

Genrou's shirt was torn wide open in the back. They'll probably whip me, he thought. He tried to brace himself for the pain. Images flashed through his mind. He momentarily felt evil Tamahome's foot on his back and the sting of his nunchaku. Quickly, he pushed the memory away.

"Now, Genrou," Makara began, as if talking to a child. "I need to know that you're always going to remember me. So, I think I'll make sure."

Genrou squirmed. "After I get out of here and slit your throat, I promise I'll never think of you again."

"Now it's that kind of attitude that we need to change, Genrou. Guards, hold him still. I don't want to mess this up."

Genrou felt the guards pinning him securely to the table. A minute later, he screamed as a hot iron was pressed to his skin. He bucked violently against the men holding him.

"Just hold still, Genrou," Makara said smoothly. "Squirming will only make this take longer. You must be taught that running away is simply not acceptable."

"FUCK YOU!"

The iron again touched his skin, burning away his flesh. Genrou fought wildly against the guards, but they only held him down more tightly, so he could barely move.

Genrou screamed, unable to do anything else.

Through the extreme pain, he noticed that Makara was being very particular in the pattern in which he moved the iron.

What the hell is he doing? he wondered. He pushed against the guards again, but they gave very little, considering there were seven of them.

"Genrou, if you don't hold still I will never finish." He again touched the metal to the soft skin.

Again, Genrou could sense a particular pattern.

"Shit! Stop it! You don't need to do this! I won't forget your name!"

"I have to make sure," Makara said as he began "writing" the letter k. "This way, you'll never forget."

Genrou had visions of being permanently scarred. "STOP IT!" Tears of anger, frustration, and pain poured down his face. "Let me GO!" He came close to being sick as the smell of burning flesh filled the air.

He could do nothing except scream.

And there was no one to hear him who would care.

Makara and the guards left Genrou chained to the table after carving the final 'a' into his flesh. Genrou wept bitterly, completely humiliated. His back felt as if it was on fire.

He cried out as someone touched his wounds. "Stop it," he moaned.

"Shh," a new voice told him. "Just stay still."

Not having the energy to do anything else, Genrou obeyed. He winced again as something touched his wounds, but stopped as he realized it was cool instead of hot. The stranger was trying to help him.

"Will it be permanent?" Genrou asked.

"Probably," the voice answered. The stranger applied a salve to Genrou's back, bringing the pain back down to manageable levels.

"Arigatou," Genrou croaked.

The door swung open.

~~~

Three months later . . .

Kouji knelt in front of Genrou's grave.

"Hey, Genrou. Things are going a little better now. Makara's men are starting to surface again, even though there's no sign of the man himself. Coward. I know he'll show up sooner or later. Once he does, his ass is mine. I swear to you I won't let him get away this time." Kouji drew a dagger. He held it in his closed fist, then quickly pulled it through his fist, drawing blood. Kouji waited until blood dripped onto his friend's grave, followed by his tears. "I swear to you, Genrou, I will avenge your death. That bastard can't get away with it. I won't let him. I won't rest until he's dead."

"Kouji," a voice behind him called.

"You know I'm not to be disturbed when --"

"I know, sir. But we've captured one of Makara's men."

There was a brief pause.

"I'll be right there."

~~~

Kouji walked quickly down to the room where the prisoner was being held after bandaging his hand. He practically kicked the door down and grabbed the man by the collar.

"Where is that fucking bastard Makara?!" he demanded.

"I-I won't tell you anything!" the man replied.

Kouji shoved the man to his knees, drawing his sword and placing it at his throat. "Talk and I'll consider letting you live."

The man stared at the sword. "I-I honestly don't know where he is right now."

"You have five seconds to tell me something useful before I end your life."

"Wait! Don't!"

"Five."

"Please!"

"Four."

"Don't kill me! Please!"

"Three."

"I don't know what else to tell you!"

"Two."

"PLEASE!"

"One."

"GENROU'S NOT DEAD!"

Kouji froze, then yanked the man closer. "What the FUCK did you just say?!"

The man was hysterical with fear. "I said Genrou's not dead!"

"I swear to God, if you're lying --"

"I'm not lying! Please, believe me! They faked the whole thing to make you think he was dead!"

Kouji let the man go. "Have you seen him?"

"Y-Yes. I-I know where he is, but . . . "

"Why did Makara do this?"

"H-He wanted to try to weaken the Reikaku bandits." He looked up at Kouji, his eyes wild. "Please, spare my life."

"Keep him locked up," Kouji told the guards. He quickly ran out of the room and back to his own. He held onto the wall for support, then gave up and collapsed to the floor.

"Genrou," he whispered. Can it really be true? Are you alive? It was too much for him to comprehend. All this time . . . he was alive all this time? What if that little worm is lying? What if it's a trap?

Kouji shook his head decisively. I'll have to take that chance.

~~~

This story is actually completed. It will be about 10 chapters long and I will post the rest soon. If you have trouble writing summaries on fanfiction.net or anywhere else, I'm quite good at boiling plots down to a few key sentences that can hook an audience in. E-mail me if you would like some help. Uh ... don't judge by my own stories. For some reason, I'm better at writing them for other people.