Authors note: Finally! Hope you´ll like it! Note that I changed the name of Kai´s mentor, it was always meant to be Kinomyia Ryu;)And, LEMON ALERT, so don´t like don´t read. And, this will eventually become Kai/Mariah.

PLEASE PLEASE REVIEW! I`ll be forever grateful if you do :D


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When the sea turns crimson

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Chapter 6

-Shikoku Island, Japan 2005-

Grief is a merciless master. Just when you think you are free, you realize you never stood a chance. Years spent in a correctional facility had taught me that there are wounds that time cannot heal. Sometimes they only get deeper, more painful, the longer you dwell on them. For a while I tried to suppress the past, to forget. To live my life one day at a time, to try and leave Rena and Vladimir Hiwatari and the downing of a commercial airliner in the past. Easier said than done.

When I finally searched out Kinomiya Ryu my fury was already out of control. It was too late to turn back. The slow burning rage had sizzled and grown for years, had turned white hot and was now impossible to quench. For me there was only one path that would bring closure; revenge.

He didn´t look at all as I had expected him too. I suppose that in itself was to be expected. The stereotype is often further from the truth than what we´d like to believe. It merely serves to take away from the familiarity, breeding expectation and prejudice.

Kinomiya Ryu was middle aged, although he somehow looked younger. Despite the grey in his otherwise thick, dark hair his face was smooth and chiselled, like flint or iron. Even though I was already taller than him he had an aura that made me feel small and insignificant in comparison; he had presence. There was something in his eyes, a self assured confidence, a cool assertive air he had about him, that made me alert.

To my untrained eye he looked like a mountain; strong and unwavering, something that couldn´t be moved. In time I have come to realize that the warrior must be like straw on a windy field, flexible. Bending but always rising again, never breaking. Kinomiya Ryu would never break, of that I felt certain, and so neither would I.

"Your father was weak", He said, taking me by surprise.

We were seated opposite each other in a small pavilion, and outside I could hear the soft whoosh of waves. By the sea, we will always live by the sea, my father had once told me. He was a dreamer I had come to realize, an individual run by his emotions and his regard for people. As admirable as that may sound this naivety was what led to his death. I would not repeat his mistake.

"He was not weak, he was…kind", I responded, voice quivering.

"He killed 90 innocent people".

Grey, assessing eyes studied me with mild interest.

"Would you call that kind?"

Muscles coiled and ready I couldn´t hold in the tension any longer, launching myself at him with an enraged snarl. How could he? I knew in the core of my being that my father was innocent. They had framed him, doomed him. Somehow Voltaire Hiwatari had tricked and extorted his way through the system, and as a result my father had to pay the price. Fury surged through me at the thought, a white hot rage so all consuming that I lost sigh of everything else. It was tearing and burning at my insides, ripping me to pieces in its craving for retribution.

The offender moved like lightening, like a snake. One moment he was right there before me, a mere half meter away, and in the next he was off to the side behind me, slamming me to ground in one fluid motion, one arm trapped underneath my body while he had the other in a steady grip. The side of my face connected uncomfortably with the hard floor, and I scowled, the previous rage cooling ever so slightly.

"Your rage is good, keep that, because you will need it in the future. However it is vital that you learn to control it, harness it. Otherwise you will fail".

His voice was even and calm, like this was nothing to him at all. This alone angered me, but like he had told me I pushed it away, saved it for later, for someone more deserving. We sat down again, cross-legged and on the floor. It was a surprisingly comfortable silence, one I could understand. Patience I told myself, patience. His eyes were constantly monitoring me, assessing my every movement. I stared levelly back, determined to figure him out, if such a thing was even possible.

He struck just as I was about to lose interest, trapping me in the same position as last time even though I actually put up a struggle. When I tried to shake him off he merely bent my arm till I howled in pain and humiliation, not letting me stand before I lay completely still. It was a level of physical pain I hadn´t experienced before, and yet it gave an almost odd sensation of satisfaction. Afterwards we retreated to our previously cross-legged position, the customary half-meter of carpeted floor all that was between us.

This time I was more focused, prepared if you will. For almost an hour I sat frozen in a kinetic stillness, all my attention on him, waiting, anticipating his next move. He struck with a sense of speed and precision that still caught me off guard, even though I had been waiting for him to make his move. I tried to move sideways to avoid him but ended up in that uncomfortable position yet again, although it took him three additional seconds to capture my arm.

We settled on the floor again, and I tried to ignore the aching that had already settled in most of my body. He smiled ever so slightly. Clearly he wasn´t fooled.

"Better", he praised, nodding at me.

"You are committed to this?" He wondered, voice questioning.

"More than anything", I responded heatedly, voice strained, on the verge of breaking into a sneer.

He nodded again, pleased.

"As you were warned, revenge is a stony path. Remember, inside the viper´s nest, you must be a viper too".

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-June 2012, present time-

Revenge is universal, as primal as the need for love, sex, or the feeding of a searing hunger. Revenge crosses time and culture. It starts unwinnable wars and visits generations of blood feuds on families with unsettled scores. Revenge is as old as humanity. I sometimes wonder what will be left when I one day in the future cross out the last name on my list, if anything at all.

"I can´t believe Mr. Tate actually slept with Emily York", Hillary said for what had to be the thousandth time.

She looked utterly stunned.

"I mean, he is 25 years older than her, and he is a pig!"

What an apt description.

I smirked tolerantly in response, my hands tightening around the steering wheel. Mr and Mrs Tate were already getting publicity as people spread the word about Mr. Tate´s indiscretions, which was good. As for Emily York I didn´t really care. Hillary seemed to get an almost unhealthy amount of delight out of the fact that she was being discredited, but apart from this I hadn´t even spared her a second thought. At the moment I had more pressing matters; among them the real Tyson Granger.

"And poor Max", Hillary gushed.

This time she actually sounded as if she cared. Who knew, perhaps Max Tate would grow up to become exactly like his father; a merciless, self-absorbed bastard. I hoped not, but then again the apple rarely falls far from tree. It was an uncomfortable thought. Partly because it could easily apply to me as well, only in a somewhat different manner.

"Poor Max", I agreed silently, absently staring into the dark ahead.

Very soon Max Tate would come to realize that his parents weren´t who he had always thought they were. Oh no. They were far worse than that.

Heavy rain thundered against the windshield of the Porsche, and strong swipes of icy wind caused the car to wobble slightly as I increased speed. I had been drinking, but only a glass of wine. Nothing that would get me in trouble, although the thought of a stiff whisky seemed incredibly tempting. Hillary giggled next to me, all flushed and tipsy as she fiddled with the buttons on the radio. Part of me felt inclined to tell her to shut the hell up, but of course I didn´t.

After due consideration I had texted Kenny to bring Tyson to his place; I could deal with them in the morning. Seeing as Hillary was coming home with me I couldn´t have Tyson around. With his burglar outfit he would probably scare her shitless, and besides I had a cover to keep up.

Tyson, what to do about him? He was a complication, a major one. His identity currently being that of Kai Hiwatari was a problem. So far no one knew, but the longer he stayed the larger the risk of exposure would become. Should word happen to reach Voltaire Hiwatari Tyson wouldn´t stand a chance. Even if my late grandfather actually believed him to be the real Kai Hiwatari Tyson was too pitiful for him to be interested in. Which ultimately left him with two options. Either he removed him, or he simply ignored him. At this point in time I couldn´t be sure which he would chose, and this worried me. Despite the fact that my quest would undoubtedly result in collateral damage I didn´t want Tyson to die. After all he wasn´t on the list. Surely that had to count for something.

"You look like you are far, far away", Hillary whispered to me, head tilted to the side in drunken contemplation.

I spared her a glance, and she blushed deeply.

"I…In your thoughts I mean, not like…like in distance".

This time I actually smiled. Silly little girl. Part of me actually felt genuinely sorry for her, even if she was vital for my plan. I simply couldn´t afford any long term attachments to her, to anyone. Like Ryu once told me; revenge is a stony path, there is no room for error or second chances. If I had to sacrifice her in order to get closer to Voltaire Hiwatari then so be it. Like I said, she was a silly, little girl. She would get over it, eventually. Besides I wasn´t particularly fond of her either, not in reality. I tried to ignore the image that popped up in my mind; the memory of golden, sun kissed skin, slanted eyes and that hot-pink hair. But no, she wasn´t here. For the time being she would remain in my memory, in a place far, far away.

"I am not very far away Hillary", I said tolerantly, smirking slightly before moving one hand to give her a simple pat on one knee.

"Oh!" She exclaimed, looking at me as though I had just done something scandalous.

I chuckled darkly in response, and she just stared at me, cherry coloured lips forming a small o in surprise. Even though I occasionally found her unbelievably frustrating she was also kind of funny, in an unexpectedly endearing way.

"Mr. Granger", she purred in response.

"How could you!"

I parked the car as close to the beach house as possible, pulling Hillary close as we half-stumbled half-ran up the stairs and along the railing towards the entrance. The sea looked particularly stunning; dark and dramatic and endless. Pitch black waves stood in distinct contrast to the already dark sky, and here and there flecks of bleak moonlight were filtered through the clouds, dancing in the black yet transparent surface.

Down by the beach the water was foaming at the edges, and the smell of salt water burned in my nose. Hillary shouted at me to hurry up, and I quickly unlocked the door, ushering her inside. The wind howled and screamed its fury at me as I turned around one last time, gazing out into the abyss, transfixed.

Inside everything seemed disappointingly calm and silent, the sounds muffled. Hillary opened her mouth to say something, probably to complain, and I kissed her harshly before she had the time to do anything annoying. Her eyes widened as I pushed her mercilessly up against the wall, and then she gave in, hands finding my hair and tugging at it as she melted against my body. She had some kind of cherry lipstick on, it tasted sweet and I playfully bit down on her bottom lip, stopping just before I drew blood. Then I carefully stroked her tongue with mine, our noses touching before I moved further down, jawline, the slope of her neck, the outlines of her collarbone. She groaned, supporting herself on my shoulders as I carefully lifted her off her feet, carrying her into the bedroom.

Outside lightening was flashing and glinting in the sky, and every now and then it lit up the room, giving me an excellent view of her smooth, curvy body as I skilfully peeled her dress off. I felt a certain part of my body stiffen considerably at the sight, and suddenly I couldn´t get out of the clothes fast enough. She struggled with my shirt and ended up tearing out the last few buttons; like I cared. I used my teeth to slide the straps of her bra off her shoulders, kissing and biting as I went, enjoying the feel of her firm body writhing underneath me, her hands digging into my back for support.

I could feel her hot breath on my face, eyes wide with excitement as I deftly removed her shoes and panties, grabbing a hold of one smooth leg to trail kisses down her inner thigh. When I looked at her I saw nothing but a quiet, reserved but ultimately very nice girl. The epitome of naive innocence. Then again perhaps that wasn´t so bad. They say ignorance is bliss, and sometimes I couldn´t help but agree. I suppose that doubt is a natural thing, but in matters of revenge there can´t be any hesitation.

With practised ease I slid my hands down her smooth, silky skin, marvelling at how well our bodies fit together before faking a tender smile when she looked at me. Sure, it is all a game, all a matter of perception. But still, sometimes you are allowed to just go with the flow and enjoy the moment. That was certainly what I was about to do, and no, I didn´t feel too bad about it, not really. Certainly not when she started fiddling with my belt buckle, sliding her hands inside my boxers with a surprising amount of expertise.

I allowed her to push me down on my back, unable to supress a groan when she pulled my underwear down, teasingly breathing on my member before taking it in her mouth. Jeez this felt good! The sight of her naked body bent over me, the feeling of her tongue licking and sucking. Fuck! Who knew innocent little Hillary Tachibana could give such a killer blowjob? I buried my hands in her hair, my grip tightening as her efforts increased. Everything seemed to melt together in one deep, endless ocean of arousal, and it took all my willpower to push her away and onto her back, our positions now reversed.

I slid into her with practised ease, groaning as she tightened around me. Her breath hitched in her throat when trailed kisses down between her breasts, stroking and touching as I finally started moving. I had never expected sex with her to be this great, but it was. She was exquisite, slim but curvy at the same time, and with firm, beautiful breasts that matched the rest of her body perfectly.

"Ahhhh….Tyson….don´t stop", she moaned, her voice high pitched and oddly pornographic.

It turned me on.

Everything would have been perfect had she not called me Tyson, but I ignored this simple fact, concentrating on the feel of her body pressing against mine as I buried myself in her.

There was something distinctly pleasing about the way she looked at me, about how she threw her head back an moaned whenever I hit that particular spot. We found a steady pace, her legs wrapped snuggly around my hips, while her nails scratched my back in time with each thrust. I didn´t mind pain mixed with pleasure, not at all. Those two are surprisingly closely connected, and she seemed to like it rough. By the time we were done a light sheen of sweat was covering her skin, her breath coming in ragged gasps as I collapsed on top of her.

This time she was too tired to talk, and I rolled off her, supressing a sigh when she curled up against my chest. Then again I couldn´t deny that this felt excellent, even if it didn't mean anything on my part. She smelled nice; all flowers and perfume and shampoo. I buried my face in her neck, inhaling her scent, feeling as though I was drowning in it. She had a few teeth marks on her shoulder, and I gently kissed them, shifting into a more comfortable position as I heard her breath slowing.

Voltaire Hiwatari´s face was hovering in my mind, distinguished and menacing at the same time. He would probably guess where Hillary had gone when she didn´t show for breakfast tomorrow. He and the new Mrs. Hiwatari would talk and be pleased. Finally Hillary had found someone worthy of her new status. Someone rich and handsome and charming.

Just wait and see grandfather, soon I´ll be a part of the family once again, and you will invite me inside with open arms.

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They say grief occurs in five stages. First, there's denial. Followed by anger. Then comes bargaining and depression.

For Most the final stage of grief is acceptance, but for me grief is a life sentence without clemency. I will never accept and I will never forgive.

Not even after the man who killed my parents lies dead at my feet.