Authors note: Okay, here we go again, another beyblade/Kai Hiwatari story. For those of you who have read "Behind the wall of sleep" this will bi similar in some aspects, but for the most part it will be much darker and far more brutal. Anyway, please give it a shot, and as always I greatly appriciate FEEDBACK! :)

Untouchable

Prologue

"Your nightmares, tell me about them. What do you see in the dark when your demons come? Are you perhaps afraid Kai? You cannot be afraid. I will teach you to fear nothing, because you will be forced to live through them all, and you will survive. Death itself will lose its mystery and become an old friend, so that when you meet her face to face she will become your ally…"

The world, the real world, felt different somehow. Something had changed; I could feel it, sense it. The coppery smell of blood was familiar, yet at the same time it felt foreign, different. Everything was different here, and although I found the change of scenery to be most welcome I did not acknowledge this fact in the slightest. At least not on the outside. I was standing in the middle of an office, on display. Seated behind an elegant oak desk was a distinguished grey haired man.

He had cool mahogany eyes, just like me, and his silver hair was pulled back in a neat looking ponytail. A ponytail, it never ceased to amuse me that he had a ponytail. There was something about the combination of the unorthodox hairstyle and the tailored suit which didn't quite match his image. Still, it was all in the eyes, and they were cold, mean…..evil. There was something about him which would make your skin crawl, but I did not fear him. He had taught me better than that. It would be wrong to say that I hated him. I didn't, not quite. No, a fair assessment would be resentment. I resented him with a certain level of reserved acceptance, nothing more. He wasn't worth anything but resentment, and yet my entire existence seemed to revolve around him, hence the resentment. He was my grandfather. His name was Voltaire Hiwatari, and he was the only person who made me feel anything apart from indifference.

I took in my surroundings with mild interest. Things rarely caught my attention, but the room appealed to me. We were at the headquarters at the Hiwatari enterprises, in my grandfather's office at the 60th floor. Needless to say the view was magnificent, and the dark marbled floor was polished to perfection. A couple of guards were standing by the door, and I knew with certainty that there were several more outside the room. Still, they meant nothing to me, which my….I would like to say "watcher", but that would be to fair a description, was very aware of. Although my feelings regarding my grandfather were limited to resentment, I held no such considerations for Boris. I hated him; it burned in me, in my entire being whenever I looked at him, and he knew, they all did.

That being said he hadn't given me any reason to, or at least not to the same extent as my grandfather. Perhaps it was the biological connection, I don't know, but I held him in higher regard than most, although he had by no means earned this. Boris's nose was broken, blood seeping from it and onto his crisp white shirt. I had backhanded him only moments' earlier, and eyed my handiwork with a certain satisfaction.

"My my Boris, you should know better than to play with fire", my grandfather said, a slight smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"He is mine!"

"Yes, of course sir", Boris responded dutifully, casually loosening his tie.

A brief flare of anger surged through me at the claim, but I suppressed it. There was no point in starting an argument which would only result in punishment on my part. I had learned from my mistakes, learned to ignore and control my temper, most of the time. When I was younger, before I understood the game, I would constantly overstep my boundaries. I still did, only in more subtle manners. So long as I played by the rules there were no consequences, and experience had taught me just how much I could push my luck.

That being said my grandfather made sure they never left any marks on me, never! Or at least not any permanent ones. However, he did not in the slightest allow this restriction to make my punishments any less painful. Instead he got creative. Sometimes he would come to watch, or to converse afterwards, torment me, or merely to observe. He was looking at me again, watching me, taking in every detail. Although I did not understand his objectives or motivations, I knew that he was fiercely possessive of me. Just watching, knowing that he owned me seemed to give him some sort of twisted pleasure. Boris had once told me that he viewed me much the same way as an expensive piece of art, only far more interesting and amusing to own. Naturally I hadn't taken very well to the metaphor.

I was wearing normal clothes for once, jeans and a t-shirt, instead of my typical training outfit. With a sigh I shuffled my feet, crossing my arms over chest. I was intrigued, uneasy. Something had changed, I just didn't know what. With a dismissive gesture my grandfather waved Boris off, and I watched with interest as he quickly walked off, feeling his nose. The guards left as well, forcing me to revert most of my attention over to him. He smiled at me, once again lost in his own fascination. Our eyes locked briefly, and for a few, coveted seconds I was allowed to let some of my frustration and stubborn displeasure shine through, before looking away.

When I was alone with him he was surprisingly tolerant of my moods. It seemed to fuel his possessiveness even more, to increase his already intense interest. To question or appear disobedient in public on the other hand…..I'd rather not dwell on the consequences. Of course I had done so on several occasions, but only to make a statement, to illustrate that he couldn't control me, not 100%. The game, our game, was what made disobedience a possibility to begin with, and despite its complicated nature I had become an expert in bending and manipulating the rules. My grandfather seemed to enjoy this stubborn unpredictability with a combination of pleasure and occasionally…..fear. He was afraid that he would someday lose control of me, but he still couldn't resist provoking me…owning me. Someday this would be his downfall, and we both knew.

"Please little phoenix, make yourself comfortable", he said, gesturing at the chair opposite his desk.

I narrowed my eyes at him, unsure of this unusual extension of courtesy. He had never asked me to sit with him before, and I did so with a certain wariness. The sensation was unreal; and I found the chair to be immensely comfortable, the complete opposite of what I was used to from the Abby. The fact that I was no longer standing in the middle of the room for him to admire was of course an added bonus. Instead he seemed to enjoy observing my puzzlement over this sudden change, taking me by surprise once more when he got to his feet. My first reaction was to stand up as well, but I remained. In a way I felt more at ease when I was alone with him. At least then I didn't have to think about appearances all the time. A soft thud was heard as he entered the minibar, and moments later he was back, placing a glass and an open can of coke in front of me. Next to the glass was a deep blue napkin, and on top of it…..chocolate, white chocolate. Despite myself I couldn't quite conceal my excitement. Such luxuries were a rarity; and he seldom allowed me the pleasure.

"It's for you, come on. I feel you have earned it"

I regarded him with another puzzled look, still somewhat put off by his uncharacteristic behavior. Then I slowly leaned forward, pausing to revel at the sensation of the cool metal against my palm, before pouring coke over in the glass. I gazed up at him momentarily, a thought suddenly occurring to me. Was this all a trap, could it be? Some new, unexplored part of the game? He smiled at my response, amusement evident in his tone when he spoke.

"Relax, it is genuine".

I took a sip, savoring the almost unfamiliar taste. He watched me the entire time, hungrily taking in my every reaction. I deliberately kept my features blank, refusing to give him anything. He didn't deserve anything but malice, and he knew. He just didn't care. I never touched the chocolate, despite my own craving. He looked almost disappointed, leaning back with a sigh, hands interlocked. There was something he wanted to tell me I realized, instantly wondering what it could be. In that moment I hated him, just for a brief couple of seconds resentment was replaced with fury. The fact that he owned me, controlled me, and that he took pleasure in it….. made my by blood boil. No one provoked me like he did, made feel as strongly. Rather than annoyance he made me feel rage, fear instead of uneasiness, and above all else despair. And yet, every once in a while he gave me a reward. It could be as simple as coke, white chocolate and a comfortable chair, but in some strange, irrational way it made me happy. I hated him for that, not resented, hated.

"After due consideration I have decided that you will be more useful for me here, by my side".

He let the words hang in the air for a while, intently scrutinizing me, waiting for a reaction. Needles to say I didn't give him the pleasure, I merely stared back, eyes narrowing. Freedom. Not total freedom, but still more than I had ever hoped for. That was what this meant, and I was prepared to take it…..with force if necessary. He smiled once more, genuinely pleased. He knew this was something I would never refuse. It was something I had craved for years, for most of my life. Yes, it was the ultimate offer on his part, and thus he had won this round. Yet again I would do as he pleased, only this time it would be different, very different…