Another BB Fic
Brought to you by Sakin-chan
Disclaimer:
I don't own Beyblade.A/N:
Hi there! Due to a total lack of inspiration for any of my other stories, I have started this one. Hopefully this story won't peter out somewhere along the middle of the plot. This one has nothing to do with any of my other stories, and there is no romancey, gooey lovey-dovey stuff anywhere in sight.Prepare for some good old, hardcore, teenage angst!
Enjoy!
Prologue – Betrayal"This time you have gone too far. Going with those rats you call friends, defying me – ME! – your own grandfather and sabotaging my life's work…"
The man slowly stepped towards him, exuding cold hatred and anger. With each step he took, he forced the boy further and further back, cornering him. The boy stared back at him, matching the older man's fury step for step.
"Oh, I should have just left you to die with your worthless bitch of a mother and that good-for-nothing piece of scum you called 'Dad'… I bring you to my abbey, give you everything a boy could want, raising you in a disciplined manner and THIS is how you repay me?!"
"You wouldn't know how to raise a child if your life depended on it!" the boy shot back, feeling his fury rising dangerously high;
"YOU ONLY TREATED ME AS A PIECE OF GARBAGE, YOU LIAR, SOMETHING TO BE USED AND THROWN AWAY! AND DON'T CALL MY MOTHER A BITCH, VOLTAIRE, SHE WAS A BETTER HUMAN THAN YOU COULD EVER HAVE BEEN IN YOUR ENTIRE LIFE!"
The blue-haired boy who stood cornered against the window, his crimson eyes blazing with hate, was Kai Hiwatari.
His black, sleeve-less shirt was covered in cuts and stained with blood, and his blue baggy trousers was filled with holes, showing the various bleeding cuts on his legs. Kai's customary white scarf, the one he tied around his neck, was gone, nowhere to be seen.
The grey-haired, brown-eyed old man who was slowly advancing on Kai, his face as icy as the coldest nights of Siberia, the man who wore the billowing dark-red cape and who knew no mercy was Kai's grandfather: Voltaire, owner of the BIOVOLT Corporation.
Voltaire was wanted by the police in several nations, charged with different crimes. A few of them included murder.
Kai had come back to his mansion in Tokyo after the end of the World Championship in Moscow, believing that Voltaire was now safely in prison, and relieved that he had gotten away with his defiance.
He shouldn't have underestimated his grandfather, should have known it wouldn't be as easy as that.
As he walked up the stairs to his room, feeling tired and sleepy, as he threw open the door and fell into his bed, shoes and all, he forgot all about Voltaire and was instantly lost in a deep slumber, something that didn't happen to him very often.
It was only as pain burnt the skin on his back, that he was jolted out of his sleep, his heart racing madly, to see Voltaire standing over him and brandishing a length of razor-sharp barbed wire.
After that, it had been a desperate, painful struggle, all the way down the stairs and then up to the third floor of their mansion.
Kai had no doubt that Voltaire would kill him.
The man was clearly insane.
He looked around, trying to move away from the windows. He didn't want to fall down three storeys onto cold, hard asphalt and break all of his bones.
Voltaire suddenly lunged for him, and Kai ducked out of his way, tripping him with his left leg. Voltaire stumbled forwards, his own momentum carrying him dangerously close to the window, and Kai watched with wide eyes as his grandfather fell forward in slow motion, the glass window breaking and shattering into a million pieces.
Voltaire had a look of blank surprise on his face as he realised that he was going to die. He grabbed the window sill in desperation, cutting his fingers on the sharp glass and crying out in pain.
Suddenly, a hand stretched out towards him, and Voltaire clung to his grandson, an almost grateful expression plastered across his face. "Pull me up, boy!" he barked, pale with relief, scrabbling against the smooth wall of his fortress.
Kai had no idea why the hell he was saving the fat bastard, but saving him he was.
(It would be so easy to let go,) he thought, (So easy to accidentally lose my grip on him and let him fall and crack his skull like an egg on the hard asphalt, like the cold bastard so truly deserved.)
But Kai ignored his evil thoughts, knowing he'd never kill anybody in cold blood. He pulled his grandfather up, pulling with all his strength, slowly letting him climb through the window even though each muscle in his body screamed in blinding pain.
Blinding pain caused by Voltaire himself.
Kai was almost spent; he gave one last pull, and suddenly Voltaire was through the window and on terra firma again, gasping like a landed fish. Kai gave him a contemptuous glance, stepping over his grandfather's body, and looked out through the window.
There was glass all over the lawn. What a mess.
"Well done, boy. You made the right choice," Kai heard his voice rasping behind him, and shrugged. He could feel the twin-beams of hatred radiating through Voltaire's eyes and burning into his back, and once again asked himself why the hell he had saved him.
A suspicious feeling suddenly crept up his mind: why was Voltaire so quiet?
He turned, and gasped, spotting Voltaire rushing at him; he felt two powerful hands shoving him hard; Kai didn't even cry out; he watched as Voltaire's smirking face flew out of his range of sight.
He'd betrayed him!
Kai was thrown out of the window this time, thrown so hard that he sailed a few metres through the air almost gracefully before his momentum and gravity pulled him down to earth.
The world became a rushing, mad blur.
The earth seemed to fly up at him, and Kai stared, wide-eyed, as it got closer and closer.
Everything was suddenly so bright, so very detailed, that he could see every blade of grass and every little stone in the wall.
It was all so very beautiful.
Then he felt a flare of pain, and his bones jarred as his body absorbed the shock of the impact.
(I'll miss practice with those losers tomorrow,) was his last thought before Kai fell into a deep, silent dark.
The dark that was deeper than any night.