Chapter #30
Cracks in the Shadows
The crowd seemed louder and more thrilled today. Understandable, this was already the semi-finals. Soon, things were going to be way more intense as the end of the tournament drew closer. Stakes got higher for each team, battles could be expected to be fiercer and opponents dangerously more unrelenting, driven by the greediness for the trophy in sight. No wonder the audience's excitement arose, people shouted uninhibited love confessions to their crush, or yelled threats at the contestants they didn't like.
Tala sighed soundlessly. The Abbey's training halls were not like the stadiums. Behind the thick and gloomy stonewalls, the atmosphere had been always tensed but also quiet, not filled with thunderous ovations and tirelessly stomping feet, and people definitely hadn't chatted with anticipation.
This life was so different from what he had lived in Moscow a few years ago. This was so disorganized, complicated, nearly overwhelming. Full of impulses, full of life. The lack of discipline was almost outrageous.
Feeling somewhat exposed, Tala occasionally missed the echoing emptiness of those coliseums, the strained muffled murmurs between his personal trainers and Volkov. Undeniably, it had been not once a terrifying experience for Tala to beyblade in those halls, in front of such a strict and unforgivable audience, but eventually and quite frequently, they had been satisfied with his performance, so he could leave without any harm.
The Blitzkriegs, his team was quite divisive in the eyes of spectators, as a matter of fact. As Tala heard, some people deeply respected their stoicism, their hostility, and in a seemingly absurd way, the fanatics considered this appearance attractive.
Other people hated them for their aloofness. Undoubtedly, his team found the often-indiscrete questions of reporters and interviewers' intolerable, so whenever he could, Tala avoided them with his team. He wasn't confident enough. The many years of isolation in the Abbey hadn't taught him how to handle such a mass, the media. But Tala was a quick-learner.
Shifting his weight to one leg, he gave a once over at his teammates. Boris and Sergei towered on his sides like a rampart around the chiseled castle, Katin standing next to Sergei. Each of them unflinching and proud, staring down on their rivals with cold, merciless eyes.
How far had they got. How many things had Tala accomplished since Tyson had sealed their times in the Abbey with his victory three years ago, and they stepped out of the prison they had considered as their home for more than a decade. Many, many things.
But far not as many that Tala was satisfied with. And during his journey to achieve what he had envisioned for himself more than two years ago, more problems had got in his way and slowed him down than he had liked to admit. Recently, his teammates beat each other to a pulp, he had discovered disturbing details about his (still?) best friend's past, his team was threatened by the possibility of getting banned from the tournament, and on top of that, Tala's own personal training didn't go the way he had planned – just to mention a few.
Tala knew how to put his nose to the grindstone for a long shot. Unmistakably, whoever earned a place among the Blitzkriegs, they worked hard, harder than any other common beyblader. Both Ivan and Kai were familiar with the rigors of harsh training. Even Katin, the new girl, understood its importance and diligently followed his orders, practicing the same repetitive movements that Tala required from his team.
Anyone who grew up outside of the Abbey had no idea how powerful their mindset was. People couldn't know how strong they had become under the immense, often torturous pressure that Volkov had put on them. They were amongst the best who could endure the suffering, the harsh treatment and circumstances. They were the survivors. And survivors were hell of fighters.
Being wise enough not to underestimate the competitors and prepare himself for the toughest opponents, Tala was committed (if not fanatical) to develop an unavoidable attack with Wolborg. He got this genius idea of building with ice that if he could finally cultivate, he would be simply unstoppable. The only problem was that he hadn't made any progress in the past days. He got stuck with a maneuver that Wolborg simply couldn't carry out, and Tala hadn't figured it out yet what it was he did wrong.
"Holly shit, Hiwatari looks like a train wreck." With the gloating remark, Boris directed the attention of his teammates to the tallest Bladebreakers member, who was undeniably exhausted. Kai looked paler than usual as he wearily observed the crowd around him with his toned-down harsh glare. Tala was able to make out the dark shadows under his eyes even from this distance.
Recalling the last night, the phoenix-wielder had seemed unusually upset, grumbling a series of complaints to Tala that hadn't made much sense, it was completely out of his character. He wondered if Tyson had eventually talked to the snob ass as he had suggested him.
"Most of us look the same after last night. You totally fucked us with your booze." Tala heard Katin's grumpy retort. She herself was visibly suffering from an ugly hangover.
Boris leaned forward across Tala to make eye contact with the girl and express his indignance against the offensive accusation. "Okay, A, my booze's fucking first-rate. And B, I didn't fuck any of you. Kinda the opposite happened, actually."
"Not the right moment for these confessions, bro."
Tala closed his eyes at Sergei's interjection. This joke was growing tiring.
"You were born a colossal, my friend, but it ain't gonna stop me beating the shit outta you if you keep up with these gay innuendos."
Katin made a hissing sound then whispered aloud to Sergei, "Such heated tension in his voice, it's gotta mean something, right?"
"He always hides his true feelings behind anger. But it's platonic love, I've been telling him for years." Sergei murmured back with barely moving lips, yet perfectly audible.
Boris loudly exhaled through his nose.
"You definitely swept him off his feet with your masculine charm last night. You looked luscious without the earband."
"Oh, did I?"
"Yeah. No wonder Kuznetsov turns into gay for that badass Viking haircut. Blond silky male locks must be his weakness."
Sergei snorted then quickly corrected her, "Captain's his weakness."
"Oh, right. What a cocksucker!"
"I can fucking hear ya, y'know!" Boris exclaimed, but the two blondes didn't even flinch.
"He's into red, I'm telling you." Sergei continued without skipping a beat.
"Red like blood. You say something."
"Tala's the lucky guy." Sergei nodded eagerly at his own conclusion, and Tala gave a wolfish warning grunt.
"The lucky guy's about to be you, lucky enough to walk away without a black eye. Or two, in Alex's case." Boris' irritated tone indicated that his patience had thin with them.
"Violence isn't a solution for everything, Kuznetsov."
From his silent spot, Tala finally decided to intervene, his voice low but sharp enough to slice through the banter like a blade.
"If you three are done reenacting a bad sitcom, maybe you'd like to remember that we're in a semi-final. Focus."
"I'll sho–"
One icy glare from Tala, and Boris swallowed back his vicious counter remark. Sergei let out a barely stifled chuckle, feeling triumphant.
DJ Jazzman appeared on the podium and filled the arena with his ardent voice, greeting the audience and walking through the highlights of the tournament so far. The matchups of the semi-finals – the only thing that most competitors could care about in this stupid ceremony – would be revealed only later.
"What's this sensitivity with gayness, anyway. You weren't homophobic when I told you about my kiss with Julia last night."
Tala whipped his head aside, so fast that he could see Sergei just did the same, and stared at the blonde in mild shock.
Boris put his hands in his pockets, giving his phlegmatic explanation, "Different rules apply to girls in this matter."
"You what?" Tala asked, suddenly completely oblivion to their surroundings.
"What? We were having fun, no big deal." She shrugged defensively under the heavy glare.
"And where were we when they had the fun?" Turning to his friends, Sergei demanded as if it was their fault that he'd missed such an important program.
"Drinking with the Ukrainians."
Sergei closed his eyes and cursed himself for making such an amateur mistake.
"You shouldn't be intercourse with your opponents, Katin." Tala's tone was less neutral as he originally intended.
"Intercourse," Boris repeated with a snort, "A Russian and a Spanish had some French in their mouth, I don't see any problem with that. This is an international tournament, after all."
"International diplomacy at its finest," Sergei quipped, smirking at Boris' comment. "Katin, I'm proud. You're really embracing the global spirit of competition."
"An impression is fine. A scandal, not so much. You do realize reporters live for this kind of shit, don't you?"
Katin waved Tala off dismissively, a mischievous glint in her eye. "If you're that worried about what they'll say, maybe you should give them something better to talk about."
Tala's sharp gaze landed on the girl.
"What the hell are you implying?" He perfectly knew what she was implying.
Boris barked out a laugh. "She's got a point, Tala. A juicy romance between the Russian and Spanish teams? That'd overshadow a drunken club kiss in no time."
Tala arched a brow, unamused. "You're volunteering to play the distraction? Romero's blond, too, now to think of it."
Unlike the others, Boris was not impressed by Tala's vengeful counter.
"I think she was suggesting someone else," Sergei chimed in, looking far too entertained by the exchange.
"I have better things to do than having a juicy romance. Winning the championship, mind you."
Katin seemed to be in a funny mood today, because she couldn't drop her cheekiness. "Come on, Captain. You two are practically headline material."
Tala stared at her for a moment, unflinching. "If that's what you believe, why do you share tongue lessons with her?"
Boris snorted, "She was just being polite, y'know. Product quality review for your high standards."
Katin must have caught a fierce cold suddenly, because she started to cough wildly.
"You'd know all about politeness, wouldn't you?" Tala grumbled, not comfortable in this conversation.
"Back to Julia, though," Sergei interrupted, clearly not ready to let the subject die. "Was it good? Or are you more about making headlines than making sparks?"
Katin shrugged a shoulder indifferently, "She kisses the same way as she fights. Bossy, hot-tempered and immoderately demanding."
Sergei grinned and nodded in admiration, while Tala tried to keep his unfazed demeanor in its place.
Boris harshly inhaled the air, "That's enough mental images to endure this stupid ceremony." He looked over at Sergei and added with a frown, "Should we develop a better relationship with the Spanish team?"
Sergei scoffed, "Alexandra's already on a mission."
Tala crossed his arms, his tone dry. "Can we get through one conversation without you assholes turning it into a circus? Get your heads in the game. Or I'll personally see to it that you'll develop only disabilities by tomorrow."
The threat, though mild, was enough to silence the group. Turning back to their opponents and viewing the body language of Bladebreakers, Tala concluded that not just his team struggled with problems. The tension among them was palpable, Tyson and the Chinese guy looked frustrated for some reason. Even that slip of a girl that always hung in the boys' neck with a smug and proud face as if she'd been part of their achievements stared at her shoes morosely. Only Max and Kenny looked present.
Tala couldn't decide whether he felt malignant pleasure at the miserable sight or was utterly disappointed in them. He wanted to win the tournament, but he also wanted to defeat strong opponents.
Most members of The Majestics looked just fine, while Justice-5 was in their usual annoyingly exuberant condition. Except for the freak guy Brooklyn, because he was in a similarly bad shape, like Kai. Tala didn't dwell long on the possible reasons, though.
"If we go against the Bladebreakers, our place in the last round is secured."
Tala strongly disagreed, but he knew that Sergei just wanted to raise the team's morale, so he didn't comment on it. Apparently, the Bladebrakers seemed to be less of a threat right now than the other two teams.
"What's that doing here, for fuck's sake!" Boris grumbled with deep-rooted hatred, and Tala followed his gaze across the hall.
A bunch of senior businessmen entered the ground floor of the stadium hall, where the competing teams also gathered. The BBA board members came to congratulate the competing teams who made it to the semi-finals, and among those clowns was parading Volkov himself.
The taste of bile rose in Tala's throat as he watched the detested figure shaking hands with the members of Majestics, who visibly contributed to the formality only out of politeness. The disgustingly tasteless green suit, the sagging skin on the rugged features, the cold, cunning smile – Tala hated everything in that man. He felt nothing but loathing for the trainer that had sort of raised him.
"Will he have the audacity to approach us?" Sergei mused in a tensed voice.
"Nah, he's no guts to do that." Boris' voice was filled with detestation.
Tala took a quick look at his team again, noticing how effectively Volkov's appearance impacted them. Sergei crossed his strong arms around his chest and stood tall, motionless, zeroing in on his target, while Boris was the complete opposite. He began pacing in place, rubbing his fingers together without a pause, as if he was itching to wrap them around their former guardian's neck.
Their reaction was nothing new to Tala. Katin, on the other hand, was a stranger to him. Taking a side-glance at her, Tala took notice of the stiffened posture, and the green eye that tirelessly darted from one point to another. Katin was busy working out a strategy in her head on how to respond to the new situation.
"Keep it cool." Tala murmured a warning to his teammates; he himself was certain that Volkov wouldn't miss the opportunity to sneer at them.
When it was the Blitzkriegs' turn, Volkov made sure to be last in the congratulatory line. Tala and his team shook hands with the businessmen, exchanging a few stiff, obligatory pleasantries. Every last one of them was a smug prick, as far as Tala was concerned—except Mr. Dickenson, who at least appeared to be just as jovial as usual.
Finally, they reached Volkov. The man's presence brought with it an unsettling hush among the Blitzkriegs.
"Here it is," he said in a voice as smooth as cut glass. "My all-time favorite team in this sport. Well done on your results, gentlemen."
Tala almost shivered under the dangerously silken voice. Volkov extended a hand, expecting formalities. Tala glared at the gesture then spectacularly refused it.
Volkov's lips curled into a contemptuous smile. He folded his hand behind his back as he always did, whenever he wanted to display a show of untouchable authority. He didn't bother offering his hand to Boris or Sergei. If Tala refused, the rest would surely follow. He knew that Tala's team always formed a unity. It was his teaching, after all.
"I do hope you have something more impressive in store, young Tala," Volkov said with poisonous sweetness, letting his gaze wander over the team. "Because from what I've observed, your chances in the final rounds appear… slim. It would be such a shame if all your efforts were to go to waste."
"Thank fucking god, 'cause your opinion counts as much as perfume in the cesspit." Boris snarled, stepping closer to threaten the man, but with a strong grip on his arm, Tala immediately yanked him back.
"Not in front of the world", Tala hissed at his friend, not losing Volkov with his eyes for a moment.
"I wouldn't expect you to appreciate nuance, Kuznetsov. It's been always far beyond your grasp."
For a minute, the harshness in the tone and the cold eyes blazing with disdain threw Tala back in the Abbey, feeling unworthy and alert at the same time, despite not being at the receiving end of the vindictive comment. Volkov never tolerated public barbarism—ironic, given how his own methods had shaped Boris into the blunt weapon he was.
Sergei must've had similar thoughts. "And who's fault is that?"
Among them, Sergei was the only person who was just as taller as the former director, not starting at a disadvantage against him.
Volkov's features flickered with the faintest trace of amusement. "I've no interest in taking credit for every," he paused pointedly, "deformity in your characters. Some flaws are woven in from birth."
"Keep your sharpened tongue in your mouth, Volkov, and get lost!" Tala bared his teeth in a feral snarl, his patience already grew thin with him. He had hurt his friends more than enough.
Volkov's eyes glinted at Tala's threat, as though savoring the captain's anger. "What a pity. I'd hoped you'd show more restraint." He started to take his leave, only to halt when a slender hand rose in a friendly wave.
Tala's jaw dropped in disbelief. Katin was smiling broadly at Volkov, as if greeting an old family friend.
"I'm so happy to see you again, sir!" she chirped.
In the brief pause, Tala not only sensed Boris and Sergei's shock, but he also noticed the momentary confusion on the older man's face. It was clear from Volkov's slight brow twitch that he hadn't expected this. Yet, in a perfectly practiced movement, he took Katin's offered hand in both of his and bowed to press a faint kiss to her knuckles. The gracious, almost courtly gesture made Katin freeze—but she allowed it. Tala felt disgusted and based on the low guttural sound coming from his behind, Boris was just as nauseated.
"Now, this is a surprise." Volkov's voice was all velvet menace. "A flower in the desert, indeed."
"You probably don't remember me, Vladimir Gregorovitch, but you occasionally visited the orphanage I lived in when I was a child. You gave us beyblade training sessions there. I was always excited for your visits." Alexandra said in an uncharacteristically chirpy manner, and realization hit Tala.
She wanted to make Volkov believe her teammates didn't know the truth about her, that she'd grown up in the Abbey. Tala couldn't see the reason yet why it was so necessary, but undeniably, one couldn't be cautious enough when it came to Volkov.
Understanding her intentions, Tala played his role and tried to put on the most vicious scowl on his face he could perform, utterly disapproving of his teammate behavior. It was not so hard, to be honest. Besides, Tala was almost certain Volkov perfectly knew who Katin was and only pretended not to recognize her. What a theatre play.
Volkov's eyes gleamed. He lifted his chin in that regal way he did whenever he pretended to recall something. "Ah, yes. Now that you mention it, I do recall a dedicated little girl who showed extraordinary eagerness to learn."
Katin let out a forced tinkling laugh, playing along with his feigned memory.
"But what happened to your eye, my dear?" Volkov asked, his tone drenched in false sympathy. "That flimsy eyepatch... it's quite a shame to hide such a pretty face."
"I had an accident," Katin answered, her forced cheer shrinking ever so slightly.
Volkov merely clucked his tongue. "Accidents do happen, don't they?" he said softly, smiling as though sharing a secret. "The only thing that matters is how we… learn from them."
"That's mistakes, you jackass," Boris spat, glowering.
Volkov paid him no mind. He reached out to brush the tip of Katin's blonde hair between his fingers in a gesture that felt far too personal. "Your hair has grown, I see. Time changes us all… sometimes in ways we wouldn't expect."
The sight made Tala's skin crawl. He held himself in check, though every instinct screamed to knock Volkov's hand away. He didn't need to—Boris was already moving in, though it was eventually Sergei who stepped between them, forcibly breaking the contact.
"Don't. Touch. Her." Sergei said, each word resonating with repressed fury.
Volkov let his hand drop and took a languid step back, that unsettlingly sweet note never leaving his voice. "A watchful pair of chaperons you have, my dear. Lucky you."
Katin tittered a small laugh, gesturing breezily at her teammates as if trying to play it off. "They can be a bit… protective sometimes. But they all grew into decent men—no doubt thanks to you."
"Katin!" Tala barked at her.
"The fuck you said again?!"
"I admit, Kuznetsov falters now and then." She added lightly, not wavering under their pressure.
Volkov let out an amused breath and examined the team with a cunning expression for a brief moment.
"Why don't we continue this conversation in my office?" he suggested with honey dipped venom. "I'd be very interested to hear how you climbed your way into this top Russian team. It can't have been easy."
"In your dreams, Volkov!"
"It'd be my pleasure, sir," Katin accepted the invitation, ignoring Tala's definite refusal and the boys' bewilderment.
Tala stared at the girl with disbelief, brain already on haywire to work on possibilities and explanations that could give an answer to him that why on earth would Katin accept an invitation from the devil itself.
"Excellent," Volkov said, clearly savoring the effect of her words. "We'll see each other soon, then."
And with that, the bastard finally moved on. They all watched him leave in silence until he re-joined the group of board members, and he sat down with them in the VIP section.
"Mind you telling us what the fuck was that, Katin?" Boris snapped the moment Volkov was out of their earshot.
The girl exhaled a long breath, looking tired. She didn't reply. Tala took a side glance at her, wishing he could just open a window on her mind and read what kind of thoughts were running through her head now, because his own was surely full of ideas and suspicions. But he managed to stay silent. It was not the right time, nor the right place to interrogate.
Sergei looked just as confused, though clearly understood the weight of the situation, because he didn't say a word. Only Boris couldn't get a hold of his frustration.
"Yo, are you deaf or what?"
"Not now, Kuznetsov! He's still watching." She uttered the last sentence with great caution, as if Volkov still could hear them from such a distance. That finally shut Boris up.
They stood in a stadium in the hot Dubai, and only a relatively short meeting with their abuser was able to bring back the coldness of the damp stonewalls, the feel of isolation, the constant vigilance that they had felt every single day in the Abbey.
The pride was nowhere to be seen on his teammates' faces anymore. They all became tense and frigid, but mostly anxious. Shutting the world out and building walls around themselves in the blink of an eye – just as they had learnt. Their defensive mechanism immediately came into action, shoving everything aside. The lightness in their mood, the confidence in their competence – everything good that had happened to them in the short time since they had become free again – were dispelled.
It was a familiar but not longed feeling for Tala. It helped him to focus more, nonetheless. To keep his aim, his ambitions in his view, and be single-minded to the victory he had envisioned for himself. He always performed better under pressure. He expected some kind of redemption from this victory. That was why it was so important to work hard, to develop that attack with Wolborg.
DJ Jazzman decided to rile up the audience for the revelation of matchups, building up tension in the arena. Feeling like caught in a mental whirlwind, Tala's mind relentlessly ran over strategies and analysis to prepare himself for the semi-finals.
The Bladebreakers looked pathetic, they were no danger in their current state. Justice-5, however…
He had mixed feelings about them. On one hand, he yearned for a re-match with them to show the world who was the upper dog, kicking their ass and humiliate them. On the other hand, Tala was not one hundred percent certain about their success. Kicking their ass and humiliate them, that is. He didn't want to end up in a hospital bed again for weeks. And he knew how difficult it had been for Kai and Tyson to defeat Brooklyn. Both had barely made it.
If he could choose, he'd battle with Majestics. His team hadn't had a match against them yet, and Tala was curious about the balance of power between the two teams.
After half an hour of tedious yapping, the commentator finally announced the battling team pairs in the semi-finals.
Justice-5 would be their matchup.
The corridors became annoyingly packed after the ceremony. Tala's team forced their way through the sea of staff members and competitors that flooded around them, heading to the team's private room. Infuriated by the appearance of a ghost from their resurfacing past and distressed by their upcoming battles in the following days, Tala and Boris violently tossed every person out of their way, not bothering with the scoldings and irritated grunts they received in return. Sergei simply broke through the crowd with his own body, people literally bouncing off him if they were not careful enough to jump out of his way in time. Katin was hot on their heels.
As unfortunate as it was, they couldn't prevent meeting with Justice-5 in the halfway. It was expected, since all teams' private rooms were in the same corridor. Tala cursed under his breath when Garland purposefully approached them.
"I don't have the energy for this right now, Garland."
"I just wanted to express my excitement of having a re-match with your team. I'm truly sorry for what happened to you the last time we battled. With that being said, I hope you're prepared to fight us." The older martial artist said with a friendly smile.
"I truly give a shit about your enthusiasm or apology."
"So vicious. Volkov's re-appearance must've stirred some memories in your heads." Oh, how much Tala hated the insolate tone of that little masked brat.
Before Boris could make something stupid, Sergei stooped down and made a dry observation, "I mean, it wasn't us who believed the crap of a psychopath when he said he was a changed man."
"Right, you were just bootlicker minions for that psychopath." Ming-ming shot back, and Tala had to strictly remind himself that hitting a woman was not an acceptable reaction even in this situation.
"You're proof that you don't need a brain to survive." Katin's clapback hit like a painful whiplash, and cut off not only the sniggering of some Justice-5 members, but also her own teammates' gasp of dismay. The singer's face flushed with rage.
"Says the–"
"Enough! We're not here for this!" Garland snapped at his teammates, giving them a rebuking glare. Then, he turned back to the captain of the Blitzkriegs and offered a hand. "Some of us still learn. Anyway, the better wins. Wish you good luck!"
Tala could spot the regret in the silver-haired boy's eyes. He could imagine that Garland was not proud of himself for having been so arrogant and cruel to Tala's team a year ago. But all of that didn't matter. The Russians were thirsty for revenge, and Tala would be damned if he had let Justice-5 win this time again. He didn't care about the price or the sacrifice his team had to make for the sake of victory. He didn't care of honor and the joy of beyblading. He was happy when, after spending insanely lots of hours in the training room tirelessly pursuing perfectionism, he won his battle. No, not simply won. He wanted to demolish them.
Not really in the mood to shake hands today, Tala walked away without acknowledging the peace offer.
The team tagged along with him, but before they'd got too far, the falcon tossed back his farewell over his shoulder, "Shove that luck up yo' ass."
"I hope there are some strategy ideas in your head already against them." Sergei said quietly as he leant closer to Tala, not feeling as confident as they had just shown themselves a minute ago.
"We don't need strategies. We just fuck 'em. 'Specially Garland." Boris clenched his fists with violent intention.
Sergei must have been bothered by the tension in the air, because he dimmed his rough tone into a lighter one. "You come again with this gayness, see? Something definitely awakens in you. Some feelings."
"Oh my god, one more fucking word about this punchline and I swear I'll use you as figure-targets on the next training!" Tala exclaimed without looking back at the two boys.
"Don't leave out Katin either. We still didn't get a– …Alex?"
Tala sensed Boris stopped abruptly behind him and looked back to check on their fourth member. The blonde girl was still held up by Justice-5. Brooklyn leant close to her and whispered something to Katin that completely disturbed her for some reason.
Enough was enough!
Already riled up by Volkov's derision, Tala stopped smothering his frustration. He wasn't going to let anyone abuse and offend his team without consequences!
Full of ill-meant determination, he headed back down the corridor with Boris and Sergei to finally use Brooklyn as a cautionary tale to make it clear for everyone – messing with one of them meant messing with all of them.
Although, before Tala could reach the weirdo and fling him through a door, an unexpected and very much angry Kai seized Brooklyn by his coat and practically wiped him off Katin. Garland tried to intervene, but Hiwatari simply silenced him with a murderous glare before he dragged Brooklyn with himself to a small nook. Brooklyn's loud and panicked resistance could be hard all the way.
Tala exchanged a puzzled look with Alexandra.
oOoOo
When did it happen? When had he begun falling apart? Getting sidetracked by those upsetting dreams and losing sight of his initial goals? He had been purposeful. Focused. In control.
He was nothing like that now. He was nothing but a complete miserable mess. Just as Volkov hadn't missed shoving it under his nose. He remembered that, among the many ambitions he had with this tournament, one of them was to oust Volkov from his position and power on the board. But, such as others, this plan had been forgotten and eventually abandoned lately.
Because he was a mess. Because he hadn't had a fucking restful night for God knew how long. He couldn't think properly, his brain failed to serve him with rational thoughts and reasonings.
Slowly, little by little, Kai's world was crumbling beneath him, slipping through his grasp like sand through clenched fingers. He hadn't the faintest clue how to stop it, let alone piece it back together. The nightmares were tearing him apart from within, leaving his sanity hanging by a thread, pushing his friends further from reach, and—worst of all—severing his bond with Dranzer. The once-familiar warmth of his bitbeast's presence, a constant echo in the back of his mind, was fading into an aching void. He could increasingly often feel her absence deep in his bones, and the hollow, gnawing terror it brought was unlike anything he'd ever known.
And that made Kai unpredictable. Erratic. Impulsive. Nothing what he was supposed to be.
So, when his team was finally allowed to leave the spotlight, he immediately went to hunt down the demon whisperer freak. He might have heard his friends' confused calling after him when he departed from their group, he might have felt a hand on his shoulder that tried to stop him doing something stupid and reckless, but he didn't see or hear, and mostly he didn't care.
The only thing he wanted at that moment was to vent a considerable amount of his stress out on the boy who most likely was responsible for the state he was in. He didn't know the how, he didn't know the whys, but he decided these were minor questions right now. Kai didn't think. Kai took action.
He finally spotted the orange mop in the crowd, roughly acknowledging that Brooklyn was just intimidating the Russian girl – that, under normal circumstances, he'd found strange. Without hesitation, Kai barreled down the hallway, ignoring everyone in his way towards the weird pair. He seized Brooklyn with a ruthless hold on his chest, yanking him forcefully along with him.
"None of your business, Garland!" Kai snapped at the martial artist when he tried to stop him. He didn't stop with Brooklyn until they reached a secluded place on the corridor.
"What do you want?" Brooklyn demanded with a particular mix of panic and anger in his voice.
"I want you to make it stop!" Kai punctuated his last word with an unforgiving toss, slamming the boy against the wall. Brooklyn winced, his dwindling courage swiftly evaporating.
"I already told you it's not me who's doing this to you– to us! Did you talk about it with someone? I know you don't believe it, but it'll help. It's hard to tell which dreams are yours and which are not after a while. You'll get lost in them eventually. For me, Garland's a great help for me, he always–"
All this mystical pep talks tired and irritated Kai to no end. How would talking help with his nightmares? Ridiculous!
"Don't talk my head off, just give me a believable explanation to this fucking madness!"
Brooklyn looked Kai up and down.
"You already struggle to tell the difference between your dreams and the demon's memories. Am I right?"
No, you're not, Kai wanted to spit back, but something tied a knot on his tongue. Ray had something similar in mind when they had been talking in the morning, accepting the possibility of a demon's existence that could create nightmares in other people's heads. Despite himself getting approached by an eldritch creature in his dreams and acknowledging Zeus as a demonic bitbeast, Kai was ambivalent about the existence of demons per se.
The eccentric boy said pointedly, taking note of his silence, "Talk about it with someone. It'll help you stay connected to your reality, trust me."
"I want an explanation from you, not a goddamn advice! What demon you're talking about? You're the only one who possesses a demon."
The Justice-5 member gave a shaky, dry laugh at Kai's words.
"Just like in the tales, Kai, demons lurk in the darkness, among the shadows. They're outstandingly patient beings if you ask me. Humans hardly notice their presence unless they want us to see them."
A faint shiver running up his spine, Kai felt his jaw was working. Brooklyn spoke of demons like they were some misunderstood creatures who were worthy of human admiration. But what one could expect from a weirdo who was obsessed with bugs.
…I've been waiting for you…
He could revive the memory of the uncanny voice in his head so vividly and authentically, as if the demon was whispering directly into his ear right now. Kai trembled under its effect and, based on the distance he found between himself and Brooklyn, he even recoiled some.
Unfortunately, his toughest opponent didn't miss his reaction. "He's talking to you right now, right?" Brooklyn stared at him eerily, using a hushed tone as if they could be heard. "Something's feeding him. He's getting stronger with each day."
"How do you know this?"
"From Zeus." Brooklyn gave the profound explanation, like talking to bitbeasts were nothing extraordinary.
Not knowing what to say to that, Kai kept his intimidating stare at him, becoming aware of his own increased pulse in the meantime.
"What does it tell you, Kai? It offered something to you too, didn't it? Demons never give without taking."
…Let me give you the power you desire…
What power? Kai'd received nothing so far. All he had experienced in the past days, weeks was distress and exhaustion. To be honest, he was miserable in his current state, despoiled by the control, the power he had had before his nightmares. Brooklyn could believe whatever he wanted, demons existed only in stories.
"You accepted, too. You accepted their offer." Brooklyn whispered greedily with those deranged eyes again that Kai had seen on him during their battle last year. "What was it? What was the price you have to pay?"
"Quit giving me your bullshit and give me finally some explanation on these fucking dreams!" Kai retorted in a higher volume, breaking the spell of Brooklyn's hushed talking.
"I already told you what I know. The demon clearly wants something from you, and it won't concede defeat until it gets it. Patient creatures, remember? That's all I know."
Working with a muddled brain was not easy, it took time for Kai to extensively contemplate Brooklyn's words and see behind the disturbing picture he described for him.
The haunted look in the mentally unstable boy's expression returned with new intensity as he added, "You, me, we share a bond with it now."
This was… rubbish. God, how low he sank?, Kai berated himself. Here he was, expecting coherent answers from a lunatic—a new pinnacle of his desperation.
"I don't recall it ever making any offer to me," he said through gritted teeth. "And even if it had, I sure as hell wouldn't have accepted."
However he tried to deny it, his worn-out mind kept pulling up scenes from his encounters with that thing.
…Power…
The bone-chilling voice purred the word into his ear, each syllable dripping like poison, slithering into the recesses of his mind. A shiver rippled through his body, unbidden, like a phantom touch brushing against his very soul.
What in God's name was wrong with him? Imagining some malevolent entity luring him in with honeyed whispers and promises of ruin—what else could it be but madness?
And yet, the pull was undeniable. That dark, intoxicating power called to him. He wanted it. No—he hungered for it.
"The fact that you continue to dream about it proves you accepted their offer."
"There was no offer!" Kai's voice erupted, raw and cracked, like a dam finally giving way under pressure. His fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white, trembling with barely contained fury. "You're twisting everything—this whole fucked-up nonsense is your creation!"
Startled by the phoenix's fury, Brooklyn practically begged for mercy. "No, it's not! I told you everything I know. What else do you want from me?"
A fist slammed into the wall dangerously close to the Justice-5 member's head, and the taller boy shrank as small as he could, raising his hands in surrender.
"I want your filthy bitbeast to get out of my head!" Kai exclaimed, his demand reverberating among the high walls.
"It's not me! It's not Zeus, I swear! I-I-I just have these visions and weird dreams. I promise! Wish I didn't see them. I can't sleep, I'm afraid to even close my eyes at this point, because if I do, I… I see horrible things. I can already feel I'm losing my mind, and–" Brooklyn looked up at Kai during his pathetic crying. "I don't know how to stop this. Even Zeus can't."
Kai glared at the whimpering boy, his brows furrowed deeply, the embers of rage Brooklyn had ignited still smoldering in his chest. Yet something about the trembling voice in front of him gave him pause, forcing his anger to simmer just below the surface.
Encouraged by Kai's unexpected silence, Brooklyn pressed on, his voice frail and wavering, "You see them too, don't you? You see it. There's a boy… He's beaten, broken, and hurt… so hurt. And lonely—God, so lonely it feels like it's ripping me apart. At first, I thought I was dreaming about myself as a kid, but…" His voice cracked, a shudder passing through him. "It's not the same. It feels different. There's… darkness. Darkness everywhere. Not the comforting kind that Zeus wraps me in. It's something else—fluent, sticky, like it's alive."
Kai's instincts screamed at him to argue, to sneer at the absurd notion of 'comfortable darkness' that Zeus allegedly beamed. But he couldn't. He was frozen, stunned by Brooklyn's words. Could it be? Were they sharing the same nightmares? The same haunting visions?
His thoughts spiraled as an unsettling possibility clawed its way to the surface: was this the work of a single bitbeast?
So many questions swirled in Kai's head at once.
"Or like, just today," Brooklyn continued, not able to stop himself anymore, his breathing irregular. "I was in the forest with the boy…"
Oh, no…
"We were running. And people were chasing us. People and wolfs… I think."
No, no, that cannot be…
"The wolfs caught the boy and they… literally teared him apart." The end of sentence was swallowed by Brooklyn whimpering as he silently cried in a low terrified voice, and the air froze around them.
Brooklyn clung to his arm, and Kai numbly realized that he was still holding the taller boy by his coat. Kai forced his fingers to relax, letting go of the fabric, and somehow finding it disconcertingly hard to control the muscles in them.
"I felt the sharp teeth sinking in my face, Kai." Brooklyn continued, talking with a crazy man's eyes, holding onto Kai's arm as if it was the last resort on the shore of insanity. "I felt how they ripped up wounds on my skin, blood splashed everywhere and…"
Kai didn't hear anymore Brooklyn's voice. He was again in the forest with the dying boy. He felt the winter waft playing in his hair, he touched the coldness of the snow with his red, numbed fingers. The sour smell of animals in his nose. The rough noise of growls and ravening munch. The rich taste of blood on his tongue.
A shrill sound started to buzz in Kai's ear, closing everything else out, the frantic beating of his heart, the heat that his racing blood carried in the veins. It separated him from the world itself, isolating him from his whole reality.
It was only him. The boy. With the dogs. In the forest.
"… then one of the men shot me down and it ended the pains, and I finally woke up, but I can't... I can't take this anymore. I'm frightened to death what else it'll show me at night."
Kai blinked, snapping back to reality, but the reprieve was brief. The panic was there again, rising in relentless waves, tightening its grip around his chest. Brooklyn stood before him, terrified and unraveling, his wide, glassy eyes and trembling form bordering on madness. The sight sent a shiver down Kai's spine. Was this what lay ahead for him, too?
He couldn't stay. He had to get out. He needed to escape before the panic swallowed him whole.
Kai turned to leave, but Brooklyn's desperate grip anchored him in place. The boy clung to him, trembling, begging for help, pleading to make it stop. But Kai couldn't. He couldn't do anything. He was just as scared.
Though he knew the stadium corridors were empty, rationality was a distant whisper in the storm of his mind. The oppressive sensation of something lurking behind him—hidden, watching from the shadows—wouldn't relent. It clawed at his nerves, dragging him deeper into terror. A wave of pure dread began to crest, and no matter how hard Kai tried to brace himself, he couldn't stop it from crashing over him once again.
"What is this all about, Kai? Brooklyn! Are you alright?"
Using the opportunity that occurred with Garland's interference, Kai freed himself from Brooklyn tight hold and darted away without looking back.
He needed space. He needed air. Dogs and darkness were chasing him, he heard the yapping, he sensed its demolishing power…
…Free me… I'm so lonely here…
Kai was getting worried, unable to shake off the ominous phenomenon that somehow kept following him. He hurtled through the hallways without any specific aim, taking turn after turn, not even seeing where he was going. People everywhere at the beginning, then they slowly disappeared, leaving him alone with the stoic walls. When did these corridors become so narrow? Did he feel right that the walls were closing in around him?
Although, no matter how far he got, the menacing stare among the shadows didn't disappear. Of course it didn't –all of this existed only in his head!
It's only your imagination, this is not real, he tried to calm himself down, to slow down his rushing pulse and breathe evenly. It was too late. He became too detached from his own reality.
Desperate but too disoriented to find an escape, not able to rely on his senses anymore, Kai quickly lost his way in the maze of the arena. Still, he kept pacing, kept looking for a route to the outside. When he finally managed to find a small balcony, he stumbled through the door and almost fell on his face.
The air of Dubai was just as sweltering as inside, if not hotter. It didn't give him comfort or relief, it couldn't cool down his body flushed with the stress, or his unhinged mind. His lungs ached as if they were stabbed with a knife. He leant to a wall, grateful that it supported some of his weight, and tried to survive another panic attack.
He must find Ray. Or Tyson. Maybe they could help him somehow. Tyson's persistent presence made him believe that he was not alone, be it any bad. And Ray's placidness and collectedness always eased his distress, even after those nightmares.
Stop! Don't think of the nightmares! Think of Ray and Tyson! Your friends. Your timeless rival.
No, wait. He can't go to them. They were angry with him and avoided Kai like he had been some disastrous evil since the morning. Because Kai had thrown hurtful and unfair things at their heads.
His mouth became dry, hot air burnt his windpipe, and the field of his vision became spotted, as if swarms of ants had invaded his eyes. The city landscape that bathed in the last rays of the bright sun moved vertigo, and Kai struggled to stay on his feet.
Before his knees would give in, he'd been grabbed by his elbow, and the next moment someone was navigating him across those goddamn hallways again that reminded Kai so much to the Abbey. This part of the building was practically deserted and oddly silent, compared to the ones Kai had been running on back and forth. He had no idea where he was.
No matter. Just get me away from the dogs… Away that demonic presence…
"What dogs?", a rough voice asked.
The ones they were chasing him and the boy… Couldn't they see them?!
"No one's chasing, Kai."
Somehow, through his feverish haze, he made out the noise of a conversation with a woman's muffled voice. Was he in the hotel where his mother was staying? How did he end up here? Did he walk so far alone, in this condition? Kai couldn't decide whether he was relieved or rather exasperated with his mother among the many ambiguous feelings that ran through his head, all at once at a time.
His mother always knew how to find him. If it hadn't annoyed Kai so much, he would've found her ability quite impressive. Long ago, Kai had mistaken this stick-to-it-iveness with affection. But he'd come to realize eventually that his mother had seen only an opportunity to put up a parade of how good a parent she could be.
She had managed to locate him even on the streets of Tokyo, when Kai had aimlessly rambled in the city with the shame of his defeat against Brooklyn, covered in dirt and dried blood, but had no decency to be for him when Kai had needed her the most. When his father had abandoned him…
Enormous claws and bite marks cut through deep his skin while he was drowning, and Kai rubbed the scars on his chest.
"You're in awful shape, Kai," a voice sneered, low and dripping with mockery. "White as a ghost. Too many grand plans, not enough grit to see them through?"
"Where am I?" Kai asked, ignoring the sarcastic remark as he blindly fumbled his way to something that could support his weight before he sprawled out on the floor. The room continuously whirled around him like a wheel before his eyes.
Strong leathery hands, that definitely not belonged to his mother, seated him on a couch. It must be her personal guard – what was his name again? Kai tried to relax, soft cushion underneath him. It felt like he was getting swallowed by it.
"Somewhere safe." came the not quite specific answer.
Kai didn't like that he was talking to his mother's guard. He hated him. Hated him for seeing him in this state. Why not his mother was with him? Usually, she couldn't hold herself back to get worked up when she saw Kai this vulnerable. Constantly fussing and rambling about responsibilities and family duties, cursing her son for his recklessness.
His mind kept circling back to the picture of claws and wet mouths that mercilessly consumed his body, and a tortured sound clawed its way out of his chest in his excruciating pain.
"Your heart's going to explode if you keep this up." A shadow loomed above him, shifting with purpose.
"Where's my mother?"
The guard hesitated for a moment, then, "do you want me to get her?"
"No." Anything but that.
Kai panted and heaved as a new terrifying thought occurred in him in the middle of his hysteria. His grandfather had suffered a heart attack last year. It had nearly killed him.
Just as he acknowledged this fact in his overwrought mind, the symptoms made their appearance in his body – the fading vision, the discomfort in his chest, the numbness at his side.
"I'm having a heart attack!" His dreadful voice rang strangely in his ear.
"Mm, you're young for that kind of stuff."
Miraculously, that didn't give him comfort, not easing his suffering. Kai tried to breathe, but his body seemed to forget how to do it. He used up all the air in his lungs, and when he tried to replace it with fresh oxygen, his chest painfully clenched, denying him accessing it.
I can't breathe, he thought in shrill horror. And the ominous darkness from his dreams approached him again, more vivid than ever.
…I am standing right in front of you…
"Here, drink it up." The distorted instruction pulled him back from somewhere far away, and someone placed a glass in his hand.
But he couldn't drink. His throat pulled painfully hard, and he trembled so heavily, some of the contents spilled onto the floor. A hand helped him, lifting the glass to his mouth, and basically poured the liquid down on Kai's throat.
"What was it?" Kai coughed and choked on the water with the weird taste, keeping fighting back his blackout.
"It'll help you relax."
Well, that sounds suspicious enough, a faint voice in the back of his mind said, but it quickly swam away in the sea of the black blood that surrounded Kai.
Whatever Kai drank, it didn't work fast enough. His heart pounded hard against his ribcage like a crazy caged animal – he expected it to burst out of his chest in any moment. His mind was paralyzed with the picture of that devil figure, enveloping him with its endless darkness, urging him to submit. One moment he sat on the couch and tried to get through his panic, the next he was drowning in black blood, eaten alive…
Kai's eyes widened but saw only vague shapes and blurred lights, and he gripped the edge of the furniture as he leant on his knees as a last weak attempt to preserve his sanity.
"I'm going to die!"
"You're not going to die."
The guard didn't sound concerned. Rather indifferent, actually. Like, Kai's agony was just some bothersome inconvenience for him. "You must gain back control over your body. First, release the breath you're already holding.
"I can't… it's too hot… I'm burning… my inside's burning…"
It felt like the sun itself blazed inside him, suffocating him with its heat. Kai tried to get rid of his jacket, but his movements were sloppy and clumsy.
"Better to get rid of these, too, then." Whoever was with him helped with his coat, then took off his heavy scarf and then the gloves, as well. The absence of weight in his neck gave him a momentary relief.
"I'll count for you, follow my voice. Inhale… 1, 2, 3, 4…. release… 1, 2, 3, 4. Again."
Kai did his best to obey, but the muscles in his chest didn't cooperate. This was much worse than yesterday, the connection between his brain and his body was completely severed. A memory of a spinning Dragoon emerged from somewhere deep inside, but it quickly faded away. Like, he had been standing in a pond, and the thoughts in his head were slimy fishes. He struggled to catch any of them with his bare hand.
His mother's guard kept counting beside him, guiding him how to breathe, hopelessly.
"You're not listening, Kai."
He tried, truly tried, but his hampered breathing didn't subdue. He could only gasp for air which didn't give him alleviation, only prolonged his suffering. A hand brutally grabbed at his jaw, lifting his chin. Cold pale green eyes bored into his. Still fighting for the air, his awareness was slipping away. He didn't know people could die from panic attack, but Kai had no doubt, it was a real danger now.
Irritated by the unwanted touch, Kai roughly shoved the hand off him with his remaining energy, and the guarded backed away from him. He heard small noises of bustle around him before the figure returned to him with a wet cloth and insisted Kai to lean back on the furniture.
Kai automatically resisted, but quickly gave up. His fight with his temporary insanity wore him out. He dropped his head back against the headrest, looking up at the ceiling, as if he could see the other world was already opening before him.
His mother's guard beside him – where did his mother go, really? – began wiping off the sweat off his face, which made Kai uncomfortable.
"Don't touch me."
With his last ounce of resilience and pride he mustered up in himself, Kai tried to push away again the watered handkerchief with a pathetically lifeless attempt of his hand, already feeling too lightheaded. He gave up the fight much sooner than he should. Not just his consciousness, his will was also draining.
Lungs burnt like they were filled with mordant, his shivering still not subsiding, and yet, he sensed resignation slowly approached him on the horizon of his torment.
"Why are you helping me? Why you care?" Kai panted. He needed something to distract and occupy his neurotic brain to finally stop hyperventilating with his body.
A short cold chuckle met his question.
"Sometimes even I myself don't know, Kai. Maybe you grew too close to me, together with the others."
What? Grew close? And who were the others? What was this man talking about? Nothing made sense to Kai.
Thankful for the coolness that the dampened cloth provided, Kai eventually closed his eyes and tried to focus all his attention on his breathing. His helper kept pressing the wet material against his cheeks, brushing the skin on the whole area of his neck, including his nape, his collarbones. Each dab was deliverance from the nightmare-torn hellscape he was desperate to escape.
"How did you get these?" The figure tilted his head to examine the cuts that the mirror edges made on Kai's skull a few days ago, then – God knew what reason it served – the man squeezed the sensitive spot.
Kai was too tired to hold back the hiss that the punishing press pulled from him. The stitches were still raw. He swallowed hard, willing back the pain.
"Boris…" He replied to give purpose to his thoughts.
"Kuznetsov?" The voice sounded surprised. "You had a brawl with Kuznetsov? Not very smart, Kai."
"I didn't have a choice."
"We always have a choice."
Kai knew he shouldn't argue, saving his energy for more important things. And yet, "He almost beat the girl to dead."
"A girl? To dead?"
"His teammate…" Kai struggled to recall her name, as if he was trying to draw water from a bottomless well.
The hand with the wet cloth stopped mid-air for a moment.
"Why would he do that?"
Kai didn't react. He didn't know. Nor he really cared.
A brief silence settled, broken only by the steady, rhythmic ticking of a timepiece in the background. The sound pulsed through the room like a lifeline, easing Kai's nerves. He sat motionless, shoulders stiff, as he endured the treatment being administered.
Sweat traced slow, deliberate paths down his temple, mingling with the cool touch of water droplets that cascaded over his clammy skin. The sensation was oddly grounding—ticklish and soothing all at once. With each compress, his breathing began to level out, deep and measured, pulling him away from the chaotic spiral of his thoughts.
The fear that had gripped him so tightly started to dull, retreating in his mind. Yet, paradoxically, as the tension drained from his body, the awareness of being alive flooded him.
"Did he hurt you anywhere else?"
It was so weird his mother's guard asked these questions. He usually just stood in a corner, observing mutely and blankly the environment from his spot, looking out for any danger that could threaten his mother's life. As if she were an important woman in the world that someone wanted to kill or kidnap.
Kai was intent to check his surroundings, but as soon he cracked his eyes open, the room gave a wild spin, forcing him to shut them back. He felt nauseated.
"Are you hurt anywhere else?" The man rephrased his question.
The answer materialized in his mind and, not in control above his own filters anymore, his mouth spoke the words before he could stop himself, "My abdomen."
And again, Kai tried to push away the intrusive fingers that examined his torso without his permission.
"Don't make this harder, Kai. Stay still and allow me to assess your injury."
Kai didn't want to, but his treacherous muscles gave in and relaxed before he'd allowed them. Fingers found and traced over an area that felt different under the touch. It made him automatically stiffen.
"Here?"
"Hn."
"Does it hurt?"
This was getting to ridiculously look like a medical exam. Which Kai loathed like a plague.
"No."
Suddenly, the hand pressed down, firmly, directly onto the bruised expanse of his abdomen. The response was immediate. Pain ignited like a violent inferno, shooting through his body with ferocity.
Kai choked out a gasp, the sound raspy and weak, yet heavy with torment. His body jerked, muscles spasming uncontrollably, as if his very nerves rebelled against the intrusion, and Kai was worried he would slip back to the agonizing state that he'd barely managed to leave.
He wanted to thrust away the now harmful hand from him, making it clear that he didn't tolerate such cruel treatment. But the motion meant to be violent faltered before it could achieve anything.
Why am I so weak?!, Kai's mind shrieked, the panic striking down at him as he sensed invisible danger.
He was now guided to lie down on the couch and stay still. His body gave no resistance – despite the desperate commands his brain kept screaming, his muscles refused to respond, hanging limp and uncooperative.
"Kuznetsov still knows how to land an efficient blow. You're lucky to have walked away from him without internal bleeding."
Kai's breaths came shallow, the weight of his vulnerability pressing down harder than the man's hands ever could.
"Where am I?" he asked again with difficulty, paying no attention to the unrequested diagnosis. "Who are you?"
"You're in my office. And I'm a friend." The man answered evasively with an unmistakable edge of danger. "You better stay here and rest. You're obviously exhausted."
No, Kai wanted to say, opposing the idea with the deliberate intention to sit up, but exhaustion took over him, and his muscles finally gave up, not able to form even words with his tongue anymore. He closed his eyes and sighed deeply, drinking the precious air without a hitch, and lied still for a while, sensing uncanny calmness around him.
"I haven't seen you in such an excessive condition since the first time you broke the circuit record against the automata launchers when you were ten years old." Malevolence danced in the man's expression as he spoke before he covered Kai's forehead with the dampened and neatly folded handkerchief. A deceptively soft gesture tinged with intimidation.
For a fleeting moment, Kai's eyes flickered with a spark of recognition—anguish mingled with helpless defiance—before the world around him dissolved once more into a blurred, incoherent fog, and darkness pulled him down to the deep.
A deep, resonant hum vibrated in his ears, low and menacing, like the growl of an unseen predator. The sound made his hair stand on end as his eyes fixed on the massive wall before him. Once a symbol of protection, the wall now trembled under the relentless pressure of an infiltrating darkness, its stone blocks groaning against the strain. Thick, black sludge seeped through the cracks like blood from a mortal wound, spreading an ominous stain across its surface. Kai could do nothing but watch, frozen and hollow, as his world threatened to collapse around him.
...I can't wait to be One again…
…
The soft scrape of pen on paper pulled Kai sharply back to reality. He blinked against the unfamiliar dimness, his muzzy mind struggling to process the information. The couch beneath him was too coarse, the air too sterile—it hit him with sudden clarity: this was not his bed in the hotel. A jolt of unease shot through him.
He forced himself upright, a rush of dizziness making his head spin. As the room came into focus, its poor décor did little to calm him. Office furniture filled the space—bland chairs encircled a round table, a few green plants in the corners, and the ugly blue couch he had been lying on mocked him with its discomfort.
"You're awake. Good. I was debating whether to interrupt your little nap," a voice drawled.
Kai whipped his head toward the sound, spotting a figure seated behind a massive writing desk. Volkov's smug grin was venomous, his fingers steepled as he leaned back with complete self-assurance.
Instantly, Kai regretted his reactive movement of standing up hastily. The room spun as dizziness overtook him, and he stumbled over something on the floor, falling on all fours. He took notice of the thud of approaching footsteps. When he looked up, a man loomed over him, his sharp features etched with a poisonous blend of amusement and disdain.
Kai snarled through gritted teeth, his voice rough with fury, "What did you do to me?"
Volkov, unbothered by the ferocity in Kai's tone, tutted impudently. "Is that how you thank someone for taking care of you during a little mental breakdown? Not very grateful of you, Kai."
Kai viciously slapped away the hand that he'd been offered to help him up.
"Where's my mother?" Kai asked, recalling hearing a woman's voice.
Volkov didn't answer right away, his expression unreadable. "I wouldn't know. She was never here."
The response sparked a momentary of confusion in Kai, but he shoved it aside. He knelt up, noticing that he had tripped over his own shoes. As he reached for them, a chill crept across his shoulders. His fingers brushed his neck instinctively, and he found only bare skin where his scarf should have been. He stared at his hands. His gloves were gone too.
Feeling exposed, Kai scanned the room with mounting urgency. His belongings were draped over the back of a chair at the round table. Stumbling to his feet, he staggered toward them, each step a struggle as his body fought against him. Leaning on the table for support, he took deep breaths to steady himself.
Fragments of memory came into view in his mind: shadowy corridors, an overwhelming darkness, the snarling of dogs. He remembered the cold sensation of liquid sliding down his throat…
His gaze snapped to an empty glass on the table, dread tightening his chest.
"What did you give me?" he demanded.
Volkov's silence was maddening, and when Kai finally turned to face him, the smirk on his lips only deepened in a foreboding way.
"Just water," the former coach said, his voice mockingly calm. "You looked dehydrated. You should really take better care of yourself."
Kai's rage flared up, "Fuck you! You drugged me, you motherfu–"
"Language, Kai," the man chided smoothly. "And do stop accusing me of such unseemly behavior."
Without thinking through what he was doing, Kai grabbed and hurled the glass across the room. It shattered against the wall, far from its target.
Volkov surveyed the mess Kai had made in the room. Then, his gaze shifted to Kai, his eyes narrowing into a glacial glare that carried a deadly weight. His voice, smooth yet dripping with menace, cut through the air like a blade.
"Your temper has always been your greatest flaw, Kai. Let me remind you—" his tone dropping into something even darker, "I do not tolerate outbursts. Especially not here, in my office."
If there had been another glass on the table, Kai'd have dashed that, too.
His fury boiled over. "You'll pay for this! I'm going to ruin your life! Shatter you to pieces…!"
Unmoved by his empty threat, the man turned away, heading back to his desk. "Go ahead and keep trying, Kai. Do your worst."
Shaking with rage, Kai hastily grabbed his belongings and made for the door. As his hand gripped the knob, the man's voice stopped him cold.
"Those are some nasty wounds," the man said, his tone thick with mock concern. "The ones you got during your battle with Brooklyn. They heal slower than I'd expected."
It took a moment for the words to sink in, and when they did, horror carved its way onto Kai's face. The man had seen his scars—the ones hidden beneath his shirt. The implications left him stunned, too vile to fully process.
He stood frozen, half in the doorway, unable to move as shame and fury seethed within him.
The man waved a dismissive hand without looking up from his papers. "Close the door on your way out."
Snapping back to reality, Kai stormed out, deliberately leaving the door wide open behind him.
Kai strode past the secretary's desk without so much as acknowledging her soft goodbye – her voice somehow familiar. His only thought was to get out of this part of the building as quickly as possible. If he'd just been in Volkov's office, that meant he was still somewhere inside the stadium. A brief glance through one of the windows showed the ink-blue skyline stretching behind the towering skyscrapers. The hallways were calm—quiet and wrapped with the deepening shadows of evening.
His limbs still tingled with lingering numbness. Turning into a side corridor that seemed more private, Kai let himself sink against a nearby wall and slid down until he was seated on the cool tile. He needed a moment until the lact of sensation finally faded, so he used that time to pull on his coat, scarf, and gloves, reclaiming some sense of self-esteem.
Footsteps echoed through the corridor, and Kai held his breath, hoping the sound would recede. The steps drew nearer, and he pressed closer to the wall, blending into the dimly lit corner. A tall blonde girl, dressed head-to-toe in black, passed by without noticing him. Kai recognized her and briefly wondered what business she could have here.
Once the corridor was silent again, he stood and made his way to the elevator as quietly as possible. Just before the heavy metal doors slid shut, he glimpsed the entrance to Volkov's office opening—and Alexandra stepping inside at Volkov's invitation.
He was far too unsettled to dwell on the implications of what he'd just witnessed.
Considering the hour, it was no surprise that Kai found the team still awake when he returned to their suite. Their excited voices echoed through the lounge, animated chatter about the upcoming battles with the Majestics filling the space. To Kai, it was like a needle pressing into an open wound, the noise aggravating the sour weight in his chest. He moved quickly, cutting across the room with his eyes fixed firmly on the floor, every step an unspoken plea for silence, for invisibility.
He couldn't talk. Not now. Not about anything. His mind was a tangle of jagged thoughts and unanswered questions, each one more unsettling than the last. The effort it took to put one foot in front of the other was already more than he could bear.
Then came the touch—a soft, fleeting pressure against his arm that sent a jolt through his body. Instinctively, his muscles tensed, every nerve in his brain screaming danger. He froze, his gaze snapping to the source of the sensation.
It was Hilary.
Her hand rested lightly on his arm, the warmth of it piercing through the numb haze that had recently conquered his soul. There was nothing threatening in her posture, nothing sharp in her gaze—only concern, soft and sincere. It disarmed him in a way he hated.
"What happened to you?" she asked, her voice gentler than he had ever heard it before. It unsettled him. It made him feel exposed, like she could see all the exhaustion and turmoil he was trying so hard to keep buried.
For a moment, her kindness threatened to undo him. There was a warm glint in her eyes, a quiet offer of comfort that Kai knew he couldn't afford to accept. That kind of vulnerability was a luxury, and luxuries came with a price he wasn't willing to pay.
He pulled away from her touch, sharp and deliberate. The hurt that flickered across her face was brief but unmistakable. She swallowed hard, stepping back without a word.
The room had fallen silent. Kai could feel the weight of his teammates' stares pressing down on him, a heavy, suffocating thing. His chest tightened as he glanced up, meeting their concerned gazes.
"What?" he snapped, the word leaving his mouth before he could stop it. The anger in his voice was a shield, fragile and transparent, but it was all he had.
"Are you experimenting with a new look?" Tyson ventured, his tone uncertain. He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, casting a quick glance at the others beside him. "Not that it doesn't suit you, but… it's kind of surprising to see you without them."
Kai blinked, his stomach dropping at the words. "What are you talking about?"
Max, ever the peacemaker, pointed to his own cheeks. "The blue marks. They're gone."
The air seemed to rush out of the room, leaving Kai frozen in its stance. His pulse thundered as fragmented memories began to surface: a cold pack pressed against his face, the faint sensation of something being scrubbed away. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, and a shiver raced up his spine.
"I don't owe you an explanation," he snapped, his tone colder than intended.
His legs moved before he could think, carrying him to the bathroom. Kai slammed the door shut behind him, his breath coming in sharp, shallow gasps as he stared into the mirror. His hand gripped the edges of the sink so tightly that his knuckles whitened, his mind a storm of disbelief and fury.
The mirror did not lie.
The faint, familiar blue marks that had adorned his cheeks since his childhood—marks that had defined him, armor he hadn't even realized he relied on—were gone. The pale, unmarked skin stared back at him, foreign and exposed, as if mocking the fragile appearance of control he thought he still had.
"No…" he whispered hoarsely, his voice cracking under the weight of realization. His trembling fingers ghosted over his face before he pressed his palm on his mouth to cover the sob that threatened to break out of him. The absence of those symbols felt like a lacerated wound.
The walls of the small bathroom seemed to close in around him, the air thick and suffocating. He felt stripped bare, robbed of his own rebellious power. The room swayed, and he reached for the counter to steady himself, his nails scraping against the cold porcelain.
He squeezed his eyes shut as the memory resurfaced, vivid and unrelenting: the day he had painted the first streaks of blue onto his cheeks. He was just a child, trembling with frustration and raw, unfiltered rage at his father. The man who had walked away, choosing beyblades over his own family, abandoning Kai to the cold emtpiness of their family mansion. His father's absence was not just a void—it was a betrayal, an open wound that never fully healed. The blue marks on Kai's cheeks had been his rebellion, his way of declaring war on the legacy that had torn his family apart.
Each stroke of paint was a reminder of his promise, forged in the bitter anger of a child who felt utterly forsaken. Those marks were his defiance, a silent scream that said, You chose beyblades over me? Then I'll make sure there's nothing left of them for you.
Of course, his demolishing ambitions had altered after he'd met with the Bladebreakers. But by then, the blue marks had grown to him. Became a significant part of his character. Thus, he kept them. For what they symbolized. The determination, the willpower – that had helped him through the roughest times of his life.
But now, those marks were gone, wiped away with deliberate cruelty.
It was not the result of the cold pack Volkov had applied on his face. The paint was more than decoration—it was a shield, one he had carefully constructed to withstand sweat, water, and the pressures of battle. It required a solvent to remove, something strong, like alcohol.
No, Volkov must have been perfectly aware of what he had been doing. His actions had been calculated, each movement a message: You're weak and unguarded. You're at my mercy.
Everyone knew how sensitive Kai was about his personal space. Everyone knew this – we can say – weakness of his. But no one dared disrespect it. The fact that Volkov had felt audacious and bold enough to violate Kai's boundaries and even taunt him with it meant that Kai was not himself to defend them. To make the lines obvious for others and being vigilant enough to push back any intruder.
Volkov knew where Kai's lines lied. And he deliberately crossed them.
And that frightened Kai to his bones. A pathetic sob escaped from his covered mouth, fighting with his everything to keep it together, to summon the remainder of his dignity and maintain his composure. He hadn't felt so defenseless, this exposed, since he had left the Abbey. The thought sent a fresh wave of nausea through him. The Abbey—its cold walls, the relentless drills, the weight of fear and failure—had shaped him, yes. However, it had also left scars he thought he'd hid deep enough to remain forgotten. Now, they felt ripped open again.
He detested Volkov. He detested the power the man still held over him. But most of all, he detested himself. The fact that he hadn't even conflicted with Volkov after he had made it clear that he'd violated Kai's personal space. Why had he just walked out of the room accepting his defeat? Why hadn't he done something to prove that Volkov didn't control him?
Placing his hand from his mouth to his eyes, hoping he could hide away from the world and its bitterness that lingered in the air around him. Shame like a steel grip clenched on his throat, and to release some of the stress that wildly seized his body, Kai allowed the tears to come and vanish from sight on the surface of the wash basin, let his shoulders spasm with inaudible crying. He didn't know how long he could fight this… madness.
From beyond the door, muffled voices hummed—concerned murmurs from his teammates. He didn't want their pity or their concern. He wanted to scream, to lash out, to bury himself in the quiet, cold detachment that had always been his shield. But now, even that seemed like it had been stripped away.
He turned on the faucet, splashing cold water onto his skin, scrubbing at it desperately, almost violently, as though he could undo the damage, erase the violation. The sting of the icy water against heated skin grounded him momentarily, but when he looked up again, his reflection remained unchanged.
A sudden jolt of unease shot through him. He realized with a start that Volkov had also taken off his coat. What if—?
Kai immediately fumbled through the coat's pockets, desperately feeling for the familiar, hard shape he needed to find. Relief flooded him the moment his fingers brushed against Dranzer. She was still there—still with him. But something else rested beside her.
Frowning, Kai withdrew a small box of pills, every muscle in his body tensing in confusion. How in the world had they ended up in his—
That motherfucker!
Volkov must have drugged him with these. Tranquilizers. That's why he'd felt so drowsy, so weak. That's why he couldn't force himself off that couch.
Anger boiled beneath his skin, but it wasn't enough to drown out the shame that constricted his throat. Shame at his own impotence, at the fact that without those marks, he felt like a shadow of himself. He wasn't sure what horrified him more: Volkov's violation or that it had worked.
His grip on the edge of the sink tightened as a new thought began to take shape, sharp and all-consuming. He couldn't undo what had been done. But he could make Volkov—and the world—pay for it.
With a shuddering breath, he turned off the faucet, steeling himself. A dark resolve settled in his chest, heavy and uncompromising. His reflection stared back at him, unrecognizable yet strangely fitting for what he had become.
This world shall burn. To ashes.
Written: January 2025
A/N: Wow, my eyes are burning. Honestly, I have no idea what this chapter is, but I loved writing it. I definitely got carried away with Kai's part - I have no regret. *evil laughter interjects* He may be a bit OOC but it serves his character development. Horrible things yet to come.
Also, to write and complete a whole chapter in one month after the latest update? WHAT'S HAPPENING!? The thing is, guys, my brain's invaded with vast amount of ideas since I started working on this chapter. Seriously, I'm not able to sleep because of them. I blame the reviews. Because You, readers, some of you left such wonderful feedbacks on this page that it truly warmed my heart. Thank you to all of you for letting me know how you enjoy reading my story. After all, this is why I'm doing this (not for the reviews, but to give an escape from the reality). So, thank you, thank you, you're truly amazing!