Eternal Lullaby At The End of The Sabre Chapter 2: Sick Fascination, a hellboy fanfic

Ngoc Chau does not own Hellboy

This is the second chapter. So, to cap again, this fanfic is basically how and why Kroenen, this adorable opera singer, got so interested in fencing and fighting at such an early age. So... this is my explaination. Please read and review.

"Leider"
by
Eisbrecher

http: // www. youtube. com/ watch?v= MmNjNOAGhOg

Chapter Piece;

The excitement that was self-inflicted was much better, much easier than if someone had hit him and it made him all fervent. He smiled, picking up the branch and whipping himself again. The pleasure from it was strange, the stinging pain released something in him, it gave him a feeling of self-worth and power. He found the discipline he needed and the power he sought and he thought that until he could find it from and in another person, he would give it to himself. Each blow he could tell was getting harder, it hurt him as well as made him laugh. His back was jerking around, yet he still kept a steady hand.
Butterflies grew in his stomach and his head was getting dizzy. Every so often, he would relax and let the branch strike against his soft meat. He oculd handle it. It all felt... good. There was nothing that could stop him now. Pain was excruciating and it was needed. Tightness grew between his legs at his member and it felt like the foreskin there was going to peel back and explode. He seethed his teeth, thinking it was another effect of the pain and hit himself harder.

Whiip....

Slap!

The last slap had him erupt at his crotch. It felt like... a bomb.

Karl Ruprecht Kroenen eagerly gripped the sabre in his hand.
He was late in the session, but he was able to keep up. Now, after so many practices alone, he would finally be able to officially spar and fence with the other students. He sat on the bench, still marveling in the length and stroking it up and down, just imagining it bending, sweeping, thrusting forward. He started to feel all giddy as he was fantasizing about victories that he would show off.
But he sighed gingerly as he remembered what had happened a few weeks ago.

The horrid man and... his Golden Eyed Beauty, Evangeline. He rolled his lips, just remembering the coldness of hers and how... connected the kiss felt, as though it was meant to be.

"Kroenen, get over here right now!" one of the instructors shouted.
Some of the people here had heard of him, but did not appreaciate him very much for opera. In fact, it was the cause of the teasings of the students in the fencing class. He got up, grabbing his mask with him and his sabre. "Yes, sir, what is it?" he aquired.

The instructor was a typical german man with platinum blonde hair and shocking blue eyes. His jawline was square which matched his broad shoulders perfectly. The man was Till Lediter; a gifted teacher and master in the art of swordplay. However, he had a least than reputable reputation since everyone in town always saw him with a different woman on his arm every night and alchohol on his breath.
He sneered under his breath at the young boy, "Okay, you're going to be fighting today..."

"Yes." he responded readily. He was ready, he was ready, he was ready.

"... with Alfons Amery."

Like the instructor, Alfons was big for his age. But then again, compared to Ruprecht, everyone was pretty big. He was only 11 years old after all, everyone else in the class were 13 or 14 already. He was the youngest of the entire class.
Alfons glared at Karl in a way that an animal would look at his prey. He hissed out, "Get it, you're going to fight with me now, pansy boy."
Pansy boy. That was what they called the Songbird. In this sport, one of agility, stealth, and strength was all that was needed, there was no must to have a talent of singing, just focus and size. But he would just do his best to be the best; to be perfect at it just as he was with singing.

He brushed his golden locks out of his view, behind his ears and put on the mask. He breathed out loud, feeling more relaxed and at ease hiding behind the mask than if he were to go without. Not just in fencing of course, but he felt... better if he wore a mask. In fact, whenever he went home, he usually still wore his uniform, with the mask on as well, lying to his father and saing that all the others did as well. Coincidently and luckily, they did too.

Karl stood tall, remembering all basics and knowing, just thinking, that it would be the key to his first victory. Surely, because Alfons had more lessons, was more experienced, he had also grown more cocky and sloppy. Yes... he would do this move and he could easily counter him with another. His left fist clenched behind his back as he gripped the sabre's handle with a tensed up hand, still loose albeit, that was ready to swing and twitch and angle the sword perfectly. He steadied his footwork, making it so that it matched Alfons exactly while at the same time, they were alternate from each other. Alfons; with his left foot in front, Karl; with his right foot.

The instructor stood at the edge of the piste, watching the 2 students about to fight against each other to see who would truly be victorious. Both saluted each other, for with no salute or even showing a small form of respect to your opponent was enough to get you disqualified. Alfons made no move as soon as the instructor raied his hand up and signaled with a grunt that the match was commencing.
Karl stood still, motionless, watching for a twtich or a sway, he was timing him. The fact that Alfons was stilll as a statue showed that he was concentrating hard. It was not always the first one who moved would be the victor. No, often times, it would be the one who moved second and countered would win. That was the plan, that was the thought going through both their heads. Karl was sure of that idea.

However, he knew that he had the upper hand, despite his lack of experience. Unlike the students in the class, he was always watching them, always watching with his eagle eyes. The students cared only for themselves, never bothering to learn from others of their equal calibar, only from a superior and that was their mistake. Yes, they were training to be superior, but they had to start small, they had to grow from their level and that was what kept stopping them, stalling them from going forward.
It was only him who showed sighns of instant progression. And they had never seen him fight before, hence everythihng he did, every combination would be new to them.

He remembered from Alfons's matches against the other students; he would always wait till they made the first move then as they moved in, he would just back up even more, a no-no in fighting for as soon as you retreat back, your opponent had the advantage. However, just as soon as he would back up, he would lunge forward, catching the other off guard completely.

While watching the same habit from Alfons all this time, he had thought up of counters, now he could finally use them. First off; make Alfons think he was in charge when he really wasn't; he did so with that by moving forward, going as far as he saw the others had done with this boy, but his calves were tensed up tight to prepare to snap back.

Alfons moved back as expected, the poor ignorant boy, Karl wasn't just a mere singer, he had also been a strong strategist in everything; from games, plans, to practical all out war.
Now, in one split second, he could see his eyes moving, darting to Karl's chest, this was it now. Alfons sprung forward, even from behind the mask Karl could see a hint of forseen victory. But that was going to change. He leaned back, stepping to the side a well to make sure that Alfons would miss no matter what. He missed, nearly falling foward and he took that chance to strike. He stepped forward, just a little step and struck forward, the sabre bent wildly against Alfons's chest and a loud groan was heard.

"Halt!" Lediter shouted out with a strange gruffness.
He pointed to Karl with a sort of air of dismay about him and shouted, "Point; Kroenen"

Both fencers walked back to their ends, still facing each other. All the students who had been watching, probably anticipating the beginner's loss, stared in shocked awe for Alfons; who had been one of the toughest fighters in the class, was just defeated at first point to a scrawny little boy.
Ha!
Wait till they saw of more that he had up his sleeve. There were still 4 more points for him to win and he would definitely show them all he got. However, he knew that while they watched, they wouldn't learn anything at all.

More fighting, more stepping, all with silent grace. Though the only noise came from Lediter shouting every so often because Alfons tapped his hand on his back, asking for a pause. The adrenaline going through his body was warm and sparking like liquid fire, always having to move, never ceasing, even stopping would slow him down for a second and that would be enough to lose. His muscles ached at always just stepping to one place then having to move to somewhere else completely different after.
The whip of the sabre snapped back and forth as he flicked the tip about and spun it around to keep Alfons at bay.
It worked, every move that he did worked, he was confused about everything, following only improvised moves that had been brushed away by undiscipline, while when he stuck to basics, he used only it at precision. Everytime Halt was called and a point was given, it was him who had it.

"Halt!" he yelled again, pointing a weary arm at Karl,
Point; Kroenen. End Match." No one applaused. He breathed out and stood still. Lediter called out, "Faber, get in here! You;re going to fight now!"

More fighting, more energy.

It was the end of the session for the day. Only Alfons and Karl were left. They eyed each other gingerly.
All of a sudden, Karl heard a voice shouting, "Get up here now, Kroenen, I want a rematch!"

He looked to Alfons who already had his mask on, swinging his sabre all around. Karl looked up at him from behind his mask and said dully, "What are you talking about, Amery. Class is over. Even if you were to beat me now, it wouldn't be counted. You lost to me, get over it. Truth is, you're not that good anyway. "

Just as he finished speaking, Alfons jumped at him, swinging his sabre like a madman.
Karl back somersaulted out of the way, screaming, "What the hell are you doing? You never do that unless the other is ready!"

Alfons sneered under his breath, "I wasn't ready when we fought and you stilll went at me. Come on, just a rematch."

He charged again, cutting the sword down as he did so, Karl grabbed his sabre and held it up. The attack was blocked, he trembled as he held it over his head, just trying to push him back, but Alfons placed all his weight on the base of the sabre. Alfons got up, but as soon as he did, he aimed lower and stabbed at Karl in his stomach.

It hurt so much, he could've sworn that he heard a crack. Sure, he had fallen before, but nothing felt as painful as this. The throb hurt, he never thought getting hurt would sting so much. He stayed on his knees, his hands cradling his stomach and pushing down on it to try and dull the pain, it didn't do anyting at all. He threw up a bit, something white and bitter and water. His spine shook. 'Ouch, ouch, ouch.' went through his head. He counted how many seconds the fire of it kept burning at him.

Alfons laughed, "Oh my God, you really are a pansy boy! Haven't you ever been stabbed before? It doesn't hurt that much, you big baby! Get up and fight!"

Karl breathed out loud, it was getting better, the pain was still turning, but it.. didn't hurt as much.

Alfons actually did the unexpected; he took his sword and slashed it down Karl's back! A loud tear could be heard and a loud, "Arrghhh!!!"
Strange how when he felt it, the images of Evangelin's back, stained with blood and at the top of it was a black hole an the smoking barrel of the gun that was fired at her.

He seethed hard through his teeth as another lightening of injury came at him. Something... came as an unexpected side-effect. He felt something deep in his lower abdomen tighten. His back was still on fire, still searing him. He breathed and panted outloud, his spine arching as his shoulders blades came closer in to the middle of his spine. The tightening intensed harder, so much, he thought something would burst out from his pelvis.

He sprung at Alfons, punching him. He flew back, the sabre flying off somewhere else out of his grip. That was what happened; fists flying everywhere, bruises appearing everywhere, all of that stuff.

During the fight, Karl noticed, each blow hurt, but something in him... was tingling. It was a tickle at first, but the harder each punch... it felt... like something was going to explode...

"Karl, what are you doing?!" his father called out to him.
He paid no attention becauseif Alfons was going to keep punching, so was he.

"Alfy, what the hell?!" a disembodied voice called out suddenly. Alfons stopped and stood up, while brushing the dirt and smoothing out the wrinkles in his uniform.

Karl stayed on the ground, running his hands through his hair and scratching at the back of his head. His father ran over to him and gently moved his hand down his face, as he did so, he noticed that every touch... pinched.

"Karl, what were you doing? Are you okay? Your face is all swollen and it's purple!" He pulled Karl up by his hsoulders and continued asking, "What did you do? What did he do to you?"
He suddenly looked up to Alfons's father who was smoking a thick cigar, matching the image of a big burly man. "Look at what your kid did to my son? The damn kid is a wild animal!"

Alfons's father pulled out his cigar and said in a thick accented voice, "How do you know that it was my kid, maybe it was yours. Look at the look on his face, doesn't seem right."

"My son is a handsome boy, but look at his face now. This is your son's fault!"

"My son? It's yours. You're maybe a faggot, but it doesn't mean your son is like that too! He probably started the fight!"

The last thing Karl could remember before he fainted was his dad throwing a punch to Alfons's father.

The first thing he noticed as he opened up his eyes was that everything was spinning around in circles. He blinked a few times, just trying to get his head to clear and have the inane spinning stopped.
No, the world keep spinning round and round all over. It wasn't long before Karl realized that the world was never spinning, it was simply him in the car with his father. He sat up, looked at his father who had his jaw clenched and eyes emotionless while he stared out on the road.

Karl stirred around, looking at everything; for one thing, his sabre and his mask were between him and his father.
He looked up, "I'm not in trouble, am I?"

His father cleared his throat and replied without looking to him, "No, you're not in trouble... I am."

Wait, was it actually real? His father punching... Alfons's father? Was it all real? Still, he pretended to feign ignorance, "What happened? Did I bump into something or... what?"

His father turned to him then back to the road, "Oh, you probably blacked out then. Well.. don't tell your mother this because it's probably better that I explain before I say anything, but... you know that kid... what's his name again?"

"Alfons Amery." he reminded his father.

"Yeah, that kid. Anyway, I know for sure that you didn't start that fight because that's the way your mother and I raised you, but his father goes saying that you were the one who started the fight."

"I didn't." he said all too quickly. At least, he was sure that he didn't. He was the one who threw the first punch after all, but he wasn't the one who charged and attacked with a sword first.

"I know you didn't, Karl. I'm proud of you for turning the other cheek like that, but his father didn't believe that you did. And... we were talking for a bit until..."

"You sucker-punched him." he finished for his father.

"Bingo." a sudden look of pride grew on his father's face but was later erased away by a look of uncertainty, "But, son, the fact that I punched someone was wrong and it is a new lesson for me to have. Never punch someone, always turn the other cheek and be the bigger man."
There was an awkward silence between the 2 of them.

"But what happened after?"

His father shrugged his shoulders, "I don't know. Right after I beat him up.. I grabbed you and ran."

He scratched the back of his head and asked with a groan, "What happened to me, I hurt all over. My face hurts." He rubbed his cheek and felt the difference between soft flesh and hard swelling. His back ached the most.

"You took quite a beating there, son. But there's nothing like a few blocks of ice won't solve and it'll all heal and go away so you'll just as good-looking as your old man." he chuckled.

"What happened to Alfons?"

His father shrugged his shoulders, "To tell you the honest truth, son, I don't really care. But I will tell you that he had a few bruises too, looked just like yours. So I can proudly say that my son, the very pride of my name and life, could hold his own in a fight."

"It was my first time fighting today too and I won all my matches." he added in, wanting to hear more of his father's praises.

His father laughed out loud, his voice roaring with sheer male ego, "Attaboy, son! We should tell your mother that when we get home!"
Karl only opened his mouth to say something when his father interrupted him, "But don't tell your mother what I did."

He stayed outside to practice as soon as he got home. He was still clad in his uniform, each second passing made the smooth material feel more and more like his second set of skin. He saluted to an invisiable partner and started jumping back and forth, practicing, taking note in himself for his speed to increase and decrease by his own will rather than mere momentum.
He stabbed forward and stopped, flinching and clutching his shoulder as he did so. the ache was back to taunt at him. He hated it, how could he have fallen so easily?

He should've endured it, been stronger and not fallen down and even start gagging like that. He simply couldn't believe it. There were 2 choices for him;
1. Just quit and never fight again to feel this ungodly pain.
Or 2. Turn the pain into something else other than pain.
Numb himself to it practically, if he were ever struck like that in such a way, he wouldn't fall weakness to it. He could use it instead. Isn't that what a battle was about; to use your opponent's every move, stength, and weakness to you advantage?

He smiled as he deviously thought up different methods to improve and shield himself from pain. he couldn't fight back for sure, that would get him disqualified. He had to be more underhanded though, something that would either get him caught or turn him into a bumbling fool; his puppet. The sting on his back seared him. He took his sabre and pressed it against his back, letting the pressure do it's work on the wound. It felt good, to feel the cool metal seep through the sweat-stained uniform onto his back. He wondered something though... With a quick flick of his wrist, the sabre's blade snapped against his back and he seethed through his teeth, the sound of it like a snake. It hurt, but it didn't hurt as much as when Alfons did it. He assumed that it was either he was building up some sort of endurance or he was... still weak and scared that he couldn't even harm himself. Well, that would have to change if he was going to be stronger. He breathed in deep, biting on his lips at the same time, tensing up his back at the same time and letting it go!
The sword slashed at him and he yelped. It hurt. But it didn't feel as hard as when Alfons did it. It felt hard, but still soft compared to Alfons's blow.

'What could I use? If I keep this up, I'll be hurting all morning till the end of time and I'll never get anywhere. All the boys at class will laugh at me and they'll ridicule me even more if that's possible. What can I do? Think, Karl, think....'
He dropped his sword when a thin oak branch caught his eye. Walking over to the brach, he started to fling it around. It moved and bent like the sword, but with a more wilder uncontrolled feel. He though, 'Maybe this would work better. I have nothing to lose but probably a few more drops of blood.' He closed his eyes and clenched his teeth and flicked the branch behind him. It snapped, having a huge sound like 2 hands clapping.
"Yow!" he cried out, he dropped the branch and fell tohis knees. That definitely felt like Alfons's hit. Something was tingling in him again, same as before, but much stronger.

Whiip....

Slap!

The last slap had him erupt at his crotch. It felt like... a bomb. Something coursef through him and his thighs felt slippery and wet. Karl quickly looked around if there was anyone around and when he saw it was all clear, his hand shot down his pants. He felt around; it couldn't have been so painful that he wet himself, it just couldn't be. He felt a substance of it and pulled his hand out to examine. It didn't feel like urine so he ruled out wetting one's pants in a relief. But he was confused to what the sticky gooey fluid was.
He brushed it off, whatever it was, it felt amazing, undescibable with every amount of pleasure mixed in and excitement and adrenaline. If it was just him hitting himself for this, imagine.... fighting someone else. Fighting would be total nirvana and he would be the best. While everyone else was groaning and moaning in pain, he woud be the only one immune to it. He smiled as he thought more and more about fighting and his brand new discovery in the joining of flesh and raw affliction. It was too great!

But.... the idea that a sick thing like pain would make him happy... he couln't tell anybody else about this. They might think bad things about him and they might even try it themselves. They would be just as aquainted with paroxysm as he was starting to be. No, he couldn't stand much competition right now. His parents might even scold him and take him away from his fencing classes. He had to be quiet about it and keep it to himself.

Nonetheless, wait till he faced Alons tomorrow.

That was one problem solved, now the new one was how he could get into his house without his mother noticing a huge stain in front of his pants and a weird creasing fold over his groin.

Karl rolled his shoulder blades, his arm moving as well. Today was another fighting match and he was determined to get back at Alfons for striking him while he was unarmed yesterday evening. He would get him, he would show him the surprise of his life. Till had called both him and Alfons to the piste for another session of matches.
Though both boys looked completely oppsite from one another; Karl with his angelic complexion and Alfons with is rugged looks, they looked very similar to each other. Both boys had bruises along the sides of their faces and had a black eye.

Till went to the center of the piste and signaled with a grunt and a wave of his hand. Immediately, Alfons jumped forward, his sabre back in ready position to cut forward. Karl knew what to do; he aimed first for his heart, knowing full well that seeing an attack like that, Alfons would have no choice but to interrupt his little plan and defend himself. He did so, according to plan. As soon as he left his foil down, Karl charged in and aimed for his neck.

"Halt!" interrupted Till in the fury between both boys. "Point; Kroenen."

They stepped back to their ends at the piste after their less than a minute fight. They charged at each other again; Alfons's arm reeled back again like before.
He thought to himself, laughing, 'What an idiot! He's doing the same thing again! This will be easy!'
Karl aimed low once more, but Alfons didn't defend this time; he stepped into the foil tip, whipping the foil into his face. Karl flew back, right off the piste onto his back.

Every boy who was wtching and sitting down on the bench stormed up over to Karl who was still on the ground, "Kroenen, you okay? Where'd he get ya?"

He stumbled up, silent, yet behind his mask, he was laughing and smiling. Didn't even hurt one bit! It felt like a tickle! He got up, some of the boys at his arm and supporting him up.

Till asked sternly, almost bitterly, "You okay, Kroenen? Need to sit out?"

He shook his head, "I can still fight."

He nudged his head and motionned to the piste, "Point; Amery!"

Both were tied and stood facing each time. The match began again. Both went at each other. Just one second passed since their feet left the grounds. The sabre went to Alfons's chest, the other went to Karl's neck.
It all seemed to go into slow motion. Who would be the first one.

Crack!!!

The sound just echoed. Everybody blinked and hesitantly opened their eyes to see who had it.
They gasped out.
Both had pierced each other, blood was dripping from each of their sabre. Finally.... 1 dropped onto his back; Alfons Amery. As soon as the boy fell back in a crumpled heap, Karl straightened himself up and stretched out his neck.

More than half of the boys went to Karl, clammering,
"That was so cool!"
"Do you have a hold or something in your neck now?"
"Doesn't it even hurt?"

Alfons moaned in pain on the ground as Karl watched him with satisfaction in his eyes.

He wondered to himself, 'Is this what they call blood-lust?'
It probably was, he supposed. He grew excited to see the blood all over the white uniform, even on his own as well.

He knew for sure though, he was going to be the best.

Yes, I wrote a second chapter to the first one though I first intended that the first chapter would stand alone. However, I wanted to write a fanfic about how Kroenen became a masochist and I thought I should just add it to this because it fits into the theme of my fanfiction. The theme is long; it's about how even someone good and normal can become twisted. Short; A human's soul is always open to either light or darkness, never just light.

I'm going to write a sequel to this. It's going to be another fanfic, not another chapter. So.... add me to alerts and you'll get the sequel. You'll like it. I swear.