A/N: THANKS SO MUCH FOR ALL YOUR REVIEWWWSSS!1 It makes me so happy to know that people appreciate this fanfic :) (even if it's literally been blooped and bleeped HAHAHA)
I couldn't wait to post it... So here you go! enjoy, and don't forget to Rate and Review if it isn't too much trouble! Thanks :))
Disclaimer: I don't own Inazuma Eleven/ Inazuma Eleven Go. Really, do i have to say it every time ? :PP
KYOTEN CRAPTER 2: Waking Up In Wonderland
The feeling of the cold air was like a slap on the skin, jolting him awake. On instinct he moves a hand to his face to block out the light, but something immediately grips it with the precision of a mantis yet with the gentleness of a breeze.
"Don't move," it commanded in a tone just above a whisper. "Your body still needs rest."
Asking what was happening sounded like a great idea, but fatigue and pain shot through his whole system, forcing him to lower his hand as instructed and resume his rest.
When the other deemed that the boy was fast asleep, he lets out a small sigh. Walking over to the desk, he pulls out an old quill and a nearly unused inkwell, and hastily scrawls down a message.
'I finally have him. The boy is alive, but in a deep slumber. He needs rest. I shall take him to you when he is ready.'
With that he rolls it into a scroll, stamping it with a waxed seal and tying it on a bird of ebony before sending it off.
Again his gaze turns to the sleeping form stretched out on the velvet expanse of the furniture. It seemed so weak, so helpless, so he wondered what they wanted with him.
"They're wasting their time," he chuckled lightly to himself, "after all, he'll be mine soon."
This time it was the rustling of cloth that roused him from dormancy.
"Where am I…?"
As he croaks out the few words he throws the covers aside, letting his vision clear a bit. When it does, he finds himself face to face with unknown surroundings that look like they've come from the illustrations of his history book. Pearl and onyx covered nearly every inch of the high pillars, creating patterns like that of an antique chessboard and toned down by the dismal lighting of the lavender-scented candles and the serpentine chandelier fashioned purely of gold and crystals swinging from above. He lay in a sea of red velvet, almost making him sink in the fineness of its quality and in the silk of the embroidered cushions as he tried to search for anything familiar in the midst of everything. Shivering, he noticed that his jersey wasn't on anymore, knees wrapped in bandages.
And in a far corner, he spots a pale persona, clad in an austere, long-sleeved button up rolled up to the elbows with a coat darker than the hues of midnight draped on his shoulders. His pants made of the same fabric were concealed halfway by the tall boots that the Raimon student never saw a male wear before. What's more was that the chains dangling from the belt loops and the metallic embellishments of his clothing exuded reflections of moonlight with every graceful movement. The object of the captive's attention spun around, revealing irises of the most feral gold he'd ever seen.
"You're awake."
The same husky voice doesn't sound the least bit surprised to the auburn-haired boy.
"Huh, what the—!"
The stranger is suddenly at the bedside, and the coat has somehow found a way off his shoulders to reveal more of the pallid chest under the off white garment. In reflex Arion flinches away, but the other growls in dismay and pins his wrists down, one knee resting on the bed for support as he hovers above the weakened boy.
"You're not going anywhere," he warns without breaking off eye contact, which makes the gravity of his intonation even more serious.
However the other refuses to stop struggling, leaving him no choice but to clamber onto the bed to use his own body to completely immobilize the younger one. The colorless fingers were freezing to the touch, yet the proximity of their bodies made Arion heat up, beads of sweat breaking on his forehead because of the challenge of overthrowing the guy who had little difficulty restraining him. He twisted and pried, enduring burns every now and then due to the friction between the parts until he ceased to rebel, a familiar type of pain washing through him in the same areas from before and making him wince loudly.
"I have no interest in harming you whatsoever as of now, Arion Sherwind."
The dominant one spoke, indigo tresses falling around his face as he addressed his prisoner, taking in the image of eyes that were snapped shut, the rise and fall of his tanned chest that followed a rhythm and his mouth slightly parted to catch his breath.
"I am merely attempting to restore your health," he continues, gesturing to the water-filled basin crafted with intricate abstract patterns on the rims that matched the room's theme.
Peeking a little, he sees that the container indeed held something that looked quite like water, and a clean cloth was placed next to it. He hesitates, opting to face his side rather than set his eyes on the enigmatic character whom he was sure he wouldn't take his eyes off of the moment he got a good look at the face. After a moment he relaxes visibly, and the pallid boy assumes that Aaron granted him permission to do as he intended.
"Lie on your stomach," he orders, and the midfielder obeys, slightly embarrassed at the fact that he was topless in front of a stranger. Speaking of which, how did he get topless in the first place?
It didn't take long for him to put two and two together as the nameless creature proceeds to dampening the cloth and pressing it on the areas with abrasions. The brunette hisses some, trying to stifle the sting of the touch. When all the marks were cleaned, he reaches for the small case on the bedside, twisting off the circular wooden lid to apply the salve on the wounds.
Again, he twitches when the alien sensation of the minty concoction on painful parts and the surprisingly soft finger pads running across his skin mingles on his epidermis. The digits sweep daintily, tidily, and goosebumps form on the skin at how creepy yet relaxing the contact feels. What once was searing pain, however, seemed distant, numb every time the appendages travelled lengthwise and dipped in the groove of his back. And he almost felt foolish and ashamed when he immediately longed for the lulling caress the second it was gone.
"Stay here. You might need some more rest."
The silence is broken once more as the human (or so he thought) who was playing dress-up in his opinion gets up and starts walking to the door.
But Arion didn't want him to go. At least not yet, even if he didn't know why.
"Wait!"
Orbs of gold look back with a stoic glare to regard the injured boy.
"What is your name?"
The boy says nothing, instead he narrows his eyes, making no sound but conveying an emotion that clearly stated not to get into his business. With that unspoken agreement he turns away, the heels of his boots clicking faintly on the stone flooring.
He just remains motionless, wondering if he should just follow instructions or escape while the predator was away. So despite the pain in his torso he rolls out of bed, shuffling over to the oaken doors where his companion disappeared into prior. He realizes that it might be locked, and his hopes drop a little, but to his surprise the doors swing open with a rusty squeak. However, what came next shocked him to the core and rendered him utterly speechless and terrified, sucking out his soul and leaving him wide-eyed and petrified.
A sudden blast of wind almost blows him away, and in front of him are gray skies threatening to blacken into cold ashes. Thunder growls in the distance, streaks of light bringing life to the skies like they were strobe lights. He thanks the heavens for letting him keep his footing, because if it weren't for that, he would've lost his balance and vanished into the murky depths hundreds of meters away from ground level. Right and left the slick bricks showed no signs of being possible footholds to climb down, and ahead all he could see were the silhouettes of the jungle maze.
The cage was left open, but there was no place to run.
(~*~)
Meanwhile, the mysterious figure is making its way through the dark hallways of another residence. The walls are dark and gloomy, holding portraits of a forgotten family. Memories encased in glass, he thought, frozen against time despite the fact that oils will fade inevitably.
On he goes, until he reaches a right turn spilling with dim light, and he follows. When he reaches the threshold of the master's chamber, he could hear faint music due to the door that was left slightly ajar. And he enters to see another person who seemed undisturbed by the supposed interruption.
He listens to the music that the harp seemed to sigh from its stiff strings, the melody that held him in a calm embrace. It was a tune he knew from childhood, the lullaby of his mother and the song of an angel, and it continued to play softer and softer until the musician finished.
"I've been expecting you, Victor."
He flinches slightly. He hasn't heard that name—his own name—in quite a while, and it felt strange on the ears and even stranger in the mind knowing that it sounded so effortless on another's tongue.
"It has been a while, don't you think?"
The one across the room asks, and with a wistful smile, he answers back.
"Indeed it has, Vladimir."
A smile, and arms are held out.
"Welcome home, brother."
A/N: OMG HAHAH I NEED A LIFE