MasterFranny: this is the second chapter revised; I hope you will like it more than its previous version. I will try to write better I promise!
Kai –glaring at her–: but MF, what about the sickness?
MF: try some painkiller, it will last for another chapter, or two…
Kai –pales–: Oh, Kami.
Kammyh –once again showing up, singing Russian melodies–: Little Kai, just wait, soon enough Tala will come!
Kai –blushing and looking away–: hn…
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Thanks to:
Elves of the Moon
Dancing Wolf
Vampyre Neko
Lefty
Inulover28
Reiven
Bakemono-Chan
Frosst
Kammyh
Boys-on-Boysenberry-hime
And all the ones who reviewed later.
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Rating: Still T, for a while…
Warning: this will be shounen-ai, which means boy x boy relationship. If you are not comfortable please leave now, without further ado. No flames accepted because of that.
Disclaimer: Sigh, sniff, I don't own… but I wish I could…
"Talking"
'Thinking'
"(Talking into other languages)"
((BitBeast language))
–Dreams sequences, flashbacks, memories–
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Breath of LightChapter 02 Consciousness...
Believing to be a son of the Dark
I'm still running from the Light
Yearning for it all the same:
A little Light for my shattered life.
What can be worse that someone
Living all his life in the shadows,
Maybe a shadow himself,
Asking for a drop of light,
Knowing he is forbidden to have it?
Tainted by a blank void,
In remembrance of days
That will never come back.
–Start Dream–
Plic.
A small drop of water trickled down from the ceiling, falling with a soft sound right on the bruised cheek of a battered form that was laying motionlessly on the cold floor; it was a thin and skinny frame that belonged to a very young boy, unconscious, with steely chains that bound his wrists and ankles to the wall behind his shoulders.
He could be dead, if not for the rising and falling of his chest that revealed he was still breathing.
As the cold drop met with his skin, a light tremble shook the boy's frame, his closed eyelids flickering; then his fingers twitched lightly, the feeling of the cold water forcing his mind back to consciousness.
Not even a second later his eyes flashed open, as the boy came back to his senses, blinking rapidly to clear his sight and to overcome the dizziness he was feeling.
Looking around with widened eyes he tried desperately to understand where he was, panicking as he couldn't recognize his surroundings, his breath coming out in strangled gasps, being absorbed by the damp walls.
He gave the impression of a wild animal trapped and caged without his will, pupils almost glowing in the darkness; he hated the dark, and he feared it. But most of all, he feared what the darkness could hide. Nothing good came from the darkness, not in a place like this.
After some seconds –to him they seemed like hours– his sight accustomed itself to the complete obscurity of the small room around him and he could finally understand where he was, even if his eyes could not help him.
Slowly his erratic breath calmed down, his heart beat finally reducing to a steady rhythm. Not that knowing where he was calmed him down, but at least it was something expected.
Without having to see it, his memory recalled the same coldness and the same feeling of the room as something he already knew. There were not many rooms this cold in the Abbey, and most of them were not completely dark –the prisons were usually with bars, so light could reach inside.
But the small room around him was different; made of cold stone, swallowed in shadows because void of any source of light. To reach it one must've walked through long airless corridors, sinking down under the lower training areas, and lower, to the prisons, and even lower, where the air was so cold it hurt, and the darkness was complete.
The only connection with the outside was a metallic door on the opposite wall, too far away from his reach –and it was closed.
Under his back he could feel the damp stones, the cold seeping through his tattered clothes, freezing since no warmth could reach that place. No wooden board to sit on either, just a plain and hollow room.
How could it contain anything else since it was created to be a cage? A cage, a prison for wild, rebellious animals.
Shifting slightly to let his back rest against the wall –suppressing a shiver as the cold spread through his body like ice– he let his eyes close again, calming down the stabbing pain he was now feeling in his whole frame. He knew he was still settling down from the change, eyes shifting again from the brilliant gold to the usual shade of crimson, the process as painful as ever.
He could do nothing about it, just wait and keep his hurt body as still as possible. It would stop eventually. It always had.
Plic.
Another drop of water tricked down from the ceiling onto his cheek, mixing with the trail of dried blood that was also there, remembrance of the punishment session he went through before passing out.
He tried to count all the serious wounds he had on his whole body and decided this time none was really bad, just two broken ribs and some scratches –plus two fresh and painful whip slashes on his shoulders. It would have been less painful if he hadn't been injected with the anti–serum before collapsing, because then his system would have healed during his 'sleep', instead of just laying there.
Oh, well, too bad.
Sighing in defeat the boy, whose hair was of two shades of blue –darker on the back, lighter on the front– crawled slowly away from the puddle of water on the floor, trying to find a dry spot to sit without pulling too much the chains around his wrists and ankles. Being so short, they allowed him nothing more than few inches.
The movement caused a sharp pain he wasn't aware of in his right leg so he stared down carefully, straining his eyes. No matter how much he tried, he could see nothing at all –how could he? Not even cats could see in the complete darkness- so he tentatively reached out with his hand, brushing his fingers over the leg cautiously; his sensitive fingers felt the dried blood, and under it, a deep gash. The boy glared at it even if he couldn't see it, wondering if the wound would infect. Despite the fact that it must have been quite a while since he had been lying there, some of his injuries were still bleeding.
His eyes narrowed as he remembered why he ended up in the cage. He'd disobeyed… once again. Refusing to stand against one of the bladers, and Boris hadn't been too happy, as expected.
Not that he didn't like standing up against him, the boy thought snickering. No matter how hurt he would end up after, he would never bow to him, never ever. Not after what he suffered from the director.
But he had to keep in mind, his help wasn't accepted. No one wanted him to help; no one wanted him to protect anyone… half the beatings he had to endure were by some of the older boys in the Abbey. He helped them, taking their blame, suffering their beatings, but still, he wasn't accepted.
He'd stopped wondering if they ever would accept him long time ago.
Curling up around himself, attempting to warm up his shivering frame a little so not to freeze –he hated cold, it had a bad effect on his system– he wondered one more time if this was his entire fault. Maybe sometimes in his previous life, he'd done something wrong, so in this life he had to be castigated.
The slate haired boy let out a deep sigh, hiding his face in the crook of his arms, taking comfort in the proximity of the only one who didn't hold any grudge against him. Dirty fingers sliding inside his pocket, pulling out a BeyBlade.
He couldn't see it, but it wasn't needed, since he knew every single detail of it.
It was blue, with red edges, and even if it was rather small compared to the ones the older kids in the Abbey used, it was still quite big for his hands. In the middle, right on the bit chip, stood proudly the figure of a giant, mighty bird, huge red wings outstretched, blazing golden eyes and sharp looking talons ready to strike.
It was the Mythical Phoenix, a creature that lived inside his BeyBlade, who fought at his side every single day, helping him through the hell known as Abbey.
Crimson pools stared at the creature with love, as the chip glowed faintly, relief filling his heart seeing Boris didn't separate them again, like he did many times before. The director knew he couldn't live without her.
'What about me?' the slate haired boy sighed; now that some light, even if ever so faint, appeared in the room, he refused to look at his injuries, nor at his surroundings. 'Was it really mine the fault?'
The Phoenix knew the feelings that were running through her loved Child, she knew he was blaming himself, but really it wasn't his fault, how could it be?
((It's not you, Master, but Boris, he's the evil one… please, don't say this…)) the warm voice of the Phoenix and the warmth spreading from the bit chip had the power to calm down the slate haired blader, giving him some kind of relief.
But this was still wrong.
He couldn't let Boris hurt others; it had been one of his promises since the very first day.
It didn't matter the others feared him.
It didn't matter they called him a freak, or a monster…
They were just like him –ignoring some parts of the truth, in fact, but still. He had to help them, even if he received nothing but insults after. This was the way he was. He couldn't change.
That's why he helped the other boy, just like he'd helped many others before him.
Boris used to train kids in groups of hundredths –well, not Boris, he just walked around to look at the promising ones– and they were exercising with the launchers when one of them simply collapsed.
He had been one of the younger ones, a little skinny blonde that always had some trouble in doing all the tasks required for the daily schedule. He couldn't take it anymore, the beatings, the starving, the stress, so his legs gave out and he fell on the floor, groaning in pain.
Boris was on him in the blink of an eye. He never tolerated 'slacking off' as he called it. As if doing two thousand rip cords and two hundred push ups were nothing more than a little game for them.
Boris repetitively kicked the blonde in the ribs with sadistic violence, a twisted smirk flashing on his lips –the rest of his face was under his glowing mask, giving others the impression of a demon. Kai, who was obviously training away from the main group –and was at his second repetition of their training, to be truthful– couldn't stay put seeing this.
Not that the director wanted him to anyway, turning to him with a sick smirk, asking him to come and attack the fallen boy.
Rage filled his heart, how could Boris believe he would ever attack one of them? He wasn't his fucking slave.
No, he wasn't.
He'd never attacked any human being, and he didn't intend to, ever.
The boys thought otherwise. They feared him, were afraid of what he was. Backing away in fright as he stepped towards the director, disgust, fear and hatred too clear in their eyes when he looked at them.
It wasn't like he cared, but in some strange way he did care, because he wanted acceptance, but he never received it.
The fallen boy had looked up at him, trembling, defenceless, eyes filled with resignation meeting the crimson ones. He too believed the slate haired blader would hit him, kill him. He was a monster, after all. He had no heart whatsoever.
Staring down at the eyes of the younger kid, seeing in them the same feelings and contrasting emotions he was forced to see in everyone else's, hurt him.
Never to be normal again.
Hated.
Feared.
He didn't want this…
Why should he help the boy after all, why should he help any of them? They used to beat him, mock him, laugh at him when he was chained and restrained –when they were sure he couldn't return the courtesy. All of them wanted him dead. Why keep helping them?
Why should he?
But it was wrong. To kill other people… it was wrong. To hurt someone… he couldn't even think about it.
Maybe he was way too kind for his own good. He wondered if this would change growing up. He doubted it.
Of course Boris wasn't of the same advice. Of course he would get angry. Of course he would end up punishing Kai, thing that earned some smirks from the ones he tried to protect.
Biting his lip he looked at his BeyBlade. Irreverent people did not last much in the Abbey. He wasn't dead yet because he was the first living proof Voltaire's experiment was a success… the first living boy who survived the 'special treatments'.
He really wished it hadn't been him.
Because maybe, just maybe… death was better than living this hell. This was not life, at any rate. Torture, maybe, not life. Each shuddering breath taken in the dark alleys, each tear shed after Boris ravaged their back with his whip, each day passed by.
Endless pain.
To say people outside thought the Abbey was a school of BeyBlade and religion. The religion part ended with the guards dressed up as priests, as far as it was concerned. But who could doubt it? No one cared for the ones that ended up in there.
Many Russian families –and sometimes even strangers– were willingly to exchange their offspring with money, seeing that growing a child was really expensive; homeless children ended up in there as well.
Many came here willingly, wishing for a better life, meeting with hell instead.
Wasn't he sick of it all? Yes, he was. Sick of the training to become the best, sick of the beatings and of the hatred others felt for him.
Different from them, he hated this too. Wishing to be free, to fly away from this place.
Live as normal people do.
But he wasn't supposed to, he wasn't normal.
The change continued settling down, the pain coming with it fading away in the background as crimson finally overpowered the golden shade. He blinked twice, shaking slightly his head once more, before smiling bitterly.
Now, he was normal.
At least on the outside.
He was punished by the guards because he wasn't strong enough. As for strength, he was a mere child. No one could overpower five grown men… and his real strength was out of his reach.
How amusing.
While he was forced to look, other guards kicked the boy, until he could no longer move, until death came. Long, painful were the minutes before he finally stopped breathing, the pain clouding his mind, ending his torture forever.
Free; in death, but still free.
The others accused him to be responsible. That was expected. 'Who cares if he tried to help him? He still is the cause of his pain, and of his death!' they said.
Curling up more in a foetal position, as comfortably as he could without hurting his bounded wrists and ankles, he let a single tear run down his cheek, just that one, because he was slowly forgetting how to cry. His tears went dry when he was five.
Plic.
Water dripping on the floor near him.
He tried not to think about it, his dried and thirsty throat asking for it, but he knew it was hopeless.
His eyes followed the water as it continued falling on the stones near him, the rhythmic sound lightly annoying him, knowing there was cool water not even ten inches away but he couldn't have it. The chains binding his wrists were too short to have him reach it, and even if he managed to reach it, the few drops falling weren't enough for him to satisfy his thirst.
It could cause people to go insane, just knowing it was so near and yet so out of reach.
How many died down there, desperate and alone, feeling their hope disappear with their lives inch by inch? How many surrendered in the darkness, crying out in despair?
Died of starvation, anguish, insanity. Too many. All in the very same cage, haunting the mind of the next unlucky boy who ended up down there.
Some become hysterical, hurting their own bodies as they tried to escape; others were afraid of the previous boys' ghosts, afraid to become the next ghost. Others waited to die, believing they would become ghosts and would be free to haunt the next prisoner, in a wicked revenge for their own sufferings.
Others just let themselves die. To be finally free.
He refused to think about it. He wasn't going to die, he would survive another day. This wasn't the first time he ended up down there, having disobeyed the director many, many times before. He withstood against it once, twice, thrice, he would do it again; there was no problem. He came out almost dead, on the brink of starvation, but his spirit hadn't been tamed.
He didn't want to die, not now.
It wasn't his pride keeping him from surrendering to death, nothing this worthless. The only thing between him and Lady Death was… revenge.
Revenge against Boris, against the one he used to call grandfather; one day, he'd be able to return it all. One day…
Something forced him out of his thoughts, as he heard footsteps. Someone was coming there… but why?
With a low, creaking sound the metallic door started to open slowly. Even if it was a little line of light, it still was too bright for the dark accustomed eyes and the slate haired blader was forced to shut his eyes with a hiss.
The faint glowing of his Bey stopped abruptly.
He could hear someone approach the doorstep, a guard because otherwise Boris would have been already mocking him. Then as he opened his eyes again, he confusedly saw the man urge someone… or something… inside.
The shape connected with the floor with a thud and a groan of pain, and the door closed again; darkness filled the cage again, shadows hunting down every sparkle of light until there was none left. Blinking to accustom his eyes at the sudden change of light, the slate haired blader was confused and perplexed. There it was; the unmistakable soft noise of breathing; he could even hear the heartbeat, slightly faster than normal.
That was something unusual, it never happened before. He was always alone, no one wishing to be near him, near the freak.
Who was this… who was with him now?
Biting his lip he concentrated his piercing hearing on the breathing, and he heard the shape shifting into a sitting position, his shallow breathing clearly revealing he was afraid. Afraid of what, the darkness?
No, not just afraid, but frightened. He could hear him –or her? Or maybe it…– shiver. The blue haired boy could feel the other's eyes searching around, he wasn't aware there was someone else inside.
Interesting situation. Would have been better hadn't he being chained to the wall, covered in blood.
"(Who are you?)" He demanded with a cold and emotionless voice.
A sharp intake of breath was the only answer he received. The shape backed away, finally aware he wasn't alone in the cage.
The slate haired blader had to remind himself the other wasn't a threat, at least not yet. 'He's afraid, and he seems not to know where he is'.
He willed his voice to melt a little –just a little, and still it was hard.
"(Nothing to be afraid of… now answer me)". Well, that was a lie. 'Nothing to be afraid of'… well, not from him. Couldn't be sure about other people though.
A trembling voice, after a long silence, finally replied, "(My… my name is Yuriy… who are you? Where are we?)"
A flicker of something alerted the young boy's attention, something coming from the place the other boy was. As if something was glowing… glowing blue. Icy deep blue…
Glowing? In the darkness? No way. Could it be that…?
No, he was just tired and his eyes were tricking him. He just hallucinated… nothing glowed, nothing at all.
Shaking his head with a sad smile, he decided to answer, "(my name is Kai, and we are at Balkov Abbey)".
–End Dream–
Kai's eyes flashed open, his mind racing, heart pumping fast in his chest, his breath coming out in ragged gasps.
What happened?
Luckily for him, he had always been one to wake up fast.
He found himself lying on the cold floor, the same he ended up fainting on… how much time passed? A minute? An hour? He couldn't tell. But since he was still on the floor, he was sure no one realized he was missing, or that he fainted.
His head ached; maybe he hit it while falling. Kai ignored it, as he stood up once more, berating himself for what had happened. How could he just… faint!
Beyond weakness. He fought his entire life against weakness, and now, some kind of stupid sickness was having the better on him.
How stupid… and still, he couldn't deny he was feeling pretty sick at the present moment.
Plus… his dream…
'Stop,' he ordered to himself, shaking his head.
Following this trail of thought made him faint once. Faint. If someone'd come when he was on the floor, he would end up in the middle of everyone's attention, and this was his last desire.
He couldn't let himself faint again. He would never stand such humiliation twice. He was not weak.
'You are not weak, stop acting like one!' he scolded himself harshly. 'A whole life learning how to be strong, how weaknesses could be deathly, how you are meant to be the best… how could you let such a thing control you?'
He kept repeating this to himself as he stood up, trying to ignore that little, almost invisible part of him that was asking why he kept telling himself that. Was it because he really was strong, or was it because needed to reassure himself? Because he would then realize he wasn't as strong as he tried to appear?
His steel concentration went back on his breathing, after leaning on the wall for support he dragged himself towards the rest room the attendants assigned to the Japanese team. He was sure he could be anew with some rest and a glass of water; he knew he was just distressed by all the things that happened during the last few days… that was all.
And the dream was just a dream.
Nothing more.
He resumed his mask once again, breathing deeply so to ease the pain in his head. He was back to his cool façade; no one could see his internal turmoil.
Confident again he walked –well, he wobbled– until the door of the room was before his eyes. 'Few more steps,' he thought.
He entered the room with a wave of nausea, but this time Kai willed it away, with fierce determination. 'It will go away soon'.
The nausea wasn't really of the same advice, so he clumsily limped to the bathroom, emptying his stomach twice before finally be able to stand up again, flush the water and return in the other room, feeling slightly better.
Collapsing in the nearest bench his sight slid in and out of focus; the slate haired blader lifted his head only to be met with his reflection on a mirror before him, on the opposite wall. He jolted in shock when he saw his eyes flicker of a different colour.
He was surely hallucinating, and his sight was blurred, this wasn't even possible.
This was so wrong!
Crimson eyes closed against his will, his ears now throbbing as well, tingling and aching. Every little sound piercing the silence made him groan in agony.
"See! See! People Love me!"
Kai gritted his teeth in annoyance, slapping one hand on his forehead. His team was coming. He could hear them all walk down the corridor, and he didn't want them to see him like this. Not at all. He needed to collect himself, and fast, because showing them his weaknesses could only cause sufferance.
He wouldn't start being weak now.
Eyes burning up, he resumed his usual emotionless mask, hiding his turmoil, the pain subsiding for a moment. He straightened up a little, waiting for them to appear.
Tyson was the first to come. He was singing 'we are the champions' with other words, and nasty references to the Demolition Boys and Boris, swinging his fist up and down; next was Max, jumping like the blond bunny he was, huge grin on his lips and equally huge lollipop in his mouth. He and the bluenette were overjoyed, and were showing it any way they could.
Then there was Kenny. The short teen was still looking surprised about the whole thing, and was clutching to his laptop as if it was his only anchor to safety -much like Linus with his blanket in the Peanuts' strips. Said laptop was busy doing sarcastic remarks about the match.
Last were Rei and Mariah, the latter one supporting her friend who was still not fully healed after the match against Bryan. His injuries weren't that bad, but the doctors told him to rest.
It took them some time to notice Kai was there as well, and the only thing the crimson eyed teen could hope was that neither Tyson nor Max would try to hug him. Sure as Hell he could not escape them this time.
"Kai! Did you see? I won! That Wolf never stood a chance against me and Dragoon!"
Luckily Kai's ears were not throbbing anymore, or he would have fainted straight away. Hating the thought, Kai concentrated hard on his team mates' voices.
"Wasn't he great!" Max piped in, just as loud. "The whole stadium couldn't stop cheering!"
"Hn," he mumbled in response.
Rei glanced at his team captain suspiciously. He looked… strange, as if hiding something.
Kai lifted his eyes, strain clear in their depths, fighting against the weight of his eyelids, and despite the situation couldn't but feel rather amused by the disappointment he saw in Tyson's face. for how childish and noisy he could be, Kai was more than accustomed to him and to the rest of the team… almost near friendship.
Almost. He never had any friend. He had never known what friendship was, before meeting with the BladeBreakers.
But… Tyson deserved compliments this time. He accomplishes a great task. "You did great," Kai managed to rasp out without sounding too pained. He stopped, not able to elaborate more complicate or accurate thoughts, head aching once more.
But that had been enough. A second of astonishment, then all of them -except Kai, of course- started laughing, Mariah and Rei as well.
The door opened again, revealing Mr. Dickinson, Bruce and Grandpa Granger coming in smiling with clear satisfaction.
Kai fought against the darkness as they complimented with Tyson, who got his ego inflated even more, if possible; seeing they were busy with him, Kai took the chance and stood up shakily, heading as quiet as possible towards the door.
Unfortunately –but when did Lady Luck stay by his side, anyway?– Bruce looked up from his son's behaviour and saw him. "Kai, where are you going?" he called, as the others turned from Tyson to him.
Cursing his misfortune Kai turned, managing to stand up and not to fall heavily on the floor, and said, with what he wished was a cool and steady voice, "I'm waiting for you all in the bus," he answered before closing the door behind his shoulders.
Bruce stared with a frown in his direction, wondering what was wrong with him at all.
"Wonder what's up with him," mumbled Tyson, shaking his head. "I thought he would be different now".
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Finally out in the open, breathing the cold air, Kai found his mind clearing a bit. At least the guards inside the stadium were doing their work by keeping the crazy fans away from them.
He wasn't sure he could escape from a crowd of rabid fans…
Looking around for the BBA's conveyance, he had to admit he was feeling dizzy. Something wasn't right, as if he'd forget to do something, and couldn't remember what.
Frustrating…
'I never got sick in the Abbey, or at least I can't remember it, neither when I was with my grandfather,' he cursed inwardly. 'Why now?'
That was true indeed, he was never ill, not a flu, nothing.
A sudden stab of pain from the back of his neck racked through his body, making his back arch in spasm as his muscles tensed up; he hissed from the excruciating pain as he stumbled against the vehicle's side. He tried to climb the bus' ladders, but another stab hit him with force and he collapsed on the car's floor, unconscious even before he hit the ground.
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MasterFranny: it would be nice if you review now, just look down, see the bottom? Then it's not hard, a few seconds to add a review, be nice!
And please, refrain to ask about Yuriy, this will be explained later on.
Max: Have a nice day!
