[Team Canon] (Blood on the sand) First Blood

[cloverfield]

Prompt: Blood on the sand

Title: First Blood

Rating: M. Please be warned for oblique references to slavery, and possibly triggering acts of violence, but no actual naughtiness. Also, angst. Lots of angst.

Spoilers: Uh, this is set before Piffle Arc story-wise, and has spoilers for up to Ceres Arc for references to Fai’s backstory.

Author's notes: Mad love to Faren for letting me bounce this off her, and for Mikke for brainstorming with me when the Olympics were just starting, as well as being a generally awesome comp controller. ♥ Also, apparently I forgot I was on Team Canon this year, because this looks like I wrote something for Team Angst. Wow. ^^;;;


It wasn’t so bad in the cages. At least it was quiet, and dark, even if it wasn’t that clean, and between the chaos and the sheer noise the fighting brought they could snatch a few hours sleep without having to worry about being torn apart from each other. Sakura still didn’t know exactly how her older companions had kept them all from being separated (though it had been close, greedy hands grasping at her cloak and her hair, kicking and biting and slapping at every body part she could reach as all of her friends raced towards her) or what Fai had done to keep the slavemaster from noticing Mokona, hidden in the folds of her ragged cloak-

-but whatever that strange, bright gleam in blue eyes had meant (magic?) when combined with the dirt and grime and filth she’d covered herself in, it had been enough for the greedy gaze of the man who’d bought them from the market to skim over her and see nothing more than another slave boy dressed in rags huddling behind a pair of fighters (her hands shaking as she clutched at Syaoran’s own, the pair of them backed against the wall, her heart beating so hard her ribs hurt) and for that small mercy, she was grateful.

There hadn’t been any other women or girls in the market. She didn’t want to think about why.

But that Kurogane alone had laid out twenty men in groaning heaps of broken and bruised bodies when they’d tried to remove her from their small group (and if there was a sight she could never forget, seeing him move in a blur of speed and terrible skill, the chains pulled tight between his manacled wrists just another weapon as he took their enemies down with brutal efficiency was definitely it) had helped also, ensuring they’d all been placed in the same holding cell, and piggy eyes had lit with some unholy gleam when Fai had whispered something she couldn’t hear into the beringed ear of their new owner, meaning that of the five members of their small group, she was hidden and only Kurogane and Fai had been taken to the pits to fight.

That was two too many, of course. Sakura didn’t want them to fight at all- but the moment Mokona had squeaked that first, startled “Mekyo!” her heart had sunk with the knowledge that flight wasn’t an option.

The sudden, crashing roar of a crowd (impossibly loud, even here in the cells below the arena, the air choked with sawdust and the rank smell of decay and all but shaking with the echoes of violence from above) made Sakura start; goosebumps rippled over her skin and the hair on her arms stood up as something not unlike a chill ripped through her. She shifted, looking up towards their single window, one hand braced against the cracked and crumbly wall to keep her balance on the unsteady surface. Nearby, Syaoran sat in the corner of their cell, the dying light falling in weak bars across his dirty face, upturned towards the window; dusty sunbeams cut great swathes through the gloom and brought light back to brown eyes bruised with tiredness. There was no way either of them could actually see anything beyond the single patch of bleached sky their window seemed to hold, but there was a far-seeing look on his face all the same, reaching far beyond the bricks and bars that held them.

“They won again,” Sakura whispered, one hand coming up to smooth over long ears as Mokona peered out of the ragged folds that served as cloak and blanket both. “I know it.”

“It won’t be long now, princess,” said Syaoran, his voice urgent, and she jumped a little at the sound and turned to face him. “Kurogane is a skilled warrior, and together with Fai-san, he is unstoppable. Together they’ll make it to the festival, and then-”

“I know.” It was hard not to let the sadness creep into her voice. “Then they’ll get hurt.” Her words sounded odd, echoing in their tiny cell, the sound of her own voice frightening and unfamiliar; her small hands curled tight in Mokona’s dirt-speckled fur and for the second time in as many minutes Sakura shivered.

“Then they’ll win,” corrected Syaoran, putting on a brave face like he always did, trying not to let it show how much that her words had bothered him. “They’ll win, claim the feather, and then we can leave. The next world will be better than this one, princess- I promise.”

“You promise,” repeated Sakura.

“Yes.” There was a sternness in his voice she’d rarely heard, as though he was finding it hard to believe the whispered reassurances they’d been left with that morning as the slave-master had come and taken their friends away- but he was still trying, and though she couldn’t blame him, it was so hard to keep her spirits when she was so scared.

Please don't let him be wrong. Please.

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It was so very, very hard not to kill them. Not just because it would have been easy (so easy, a quick step behind, a firm grip on the back of the neck, a sudden, fatal crunch when he pressed strong fingers into the soft hollow behind the ears) but because he was so angry, a rage boiling in him like he hadn’t felt in years, making even the smile that stretched over his mouth thin and brittle, a grimace he couldn’t hide behind.

And right now he wanted to hide. Bad enough in Yama, when he’d needed that too-sharp gleam in unnaturally dark eyes to keep them both alive, to get them back to the children (to the clones); worse now that the only weapon he had to defend himself with was the man at his back, and red eyes catalogued every killing chance he didn’t take with nothing like judgment but everything like understanding.
You bastard. This would be so much easier if you really were the brute you pretend to be.

Because he wasn’t the only liar here, and if dear Kuro-chan thought he could hide that noble heart behind the killer’s facade, getting himself thrown into the arena chained and bruised from a beating for a match against some thug with a spear and armour (as punishment for grabbing the fat slave-owner that had bought them from the marketplace by one of his many chins and explaining in no uncertain terms exactly what would happen to his precious self if he were to lay a greasy finger on his companions) had not been the best decision.

That Kurogane’s gaze had swept over to include Fai himself when he made that growled threat was worse still, and the way his stomach had swooped at the realisation that the younger man actually counted Fai as someone worth protecting, as someone worth trusting had brought a rush of bile to his throat. It was what he wanted, of course; the whole point of playing the fool for those watching had been to earn their trust and belay suspicion, and in spite of Kurogane’s very best efforts to see right through him (and he had never felt so vulnerable even with a blade to his bare skin as he did under the cutting fall of those eyes) his plan had obviously worked-

-and it sickened him.

You can’t. You can’t think about it. Think about Fai, think about the deal you made. You have a price to pay here, and if that coin is his life then what do you care? He isn’t the first to die for you and he won’t be the last. If he knew, if he knew what you are, what you’ve done, he wouldn't hesitate to kill you- and you can’t afford to think otherwise.

Don't think about the Clover Bar. Don't think about Yama. Don't think about anything but what you have to do.

The shriek jolted him from his thoughts, and Fai blinked as the disconnect between the sound of the audience cheering and the sudden slick splatter of blood over his face snapped him back to his current predicament; the wheezing babble of the man whose jaw he had shattered with one distracted blow filtered through the ringing in his ears, and sweat dripped down from his hair as Fai jerked his hand back from the mess he’d made of his opponent’s face, blood dripping from his fingers and pattering in thick wet drips to the gritty sand that was the arena floor.

Grimacing, he raised his hand towards the sky in bloody salute as half a dozen matches so far had taught him to do, flicking his fingers so that gore speckled the hot, close walls that surrounded him- and the ground shook beneath his feet as the sunken, sandy walls of the pit rippled, a splintered shimmer of magic flashing across the ground and chasing a tingle through his bare feet as the earth moved, raising once more to be level to the rest of the arena. His opponent (victim) groaned and hacked blood at his feet, body curled up weakly as the sand beneath them flowed and shifted in dusty ripples; Fai wiped his hand on the ragged scraps of his clothes in distaste as the audience roared their approval at the sight of another match won.

There was another scream, a wet, bubbling kind of sound that echoed over even the crowd's cheers, and the ground shook once more as the pit closest to him rose up out of the earth with a cloud of dust and a wrenching shudder-

-and there was Kurogane, standing over some poor bastard writhing on the ground with a badly dislocated arm and a nose that was mashed back into his face; blood poured freely from the mangled mess of his mouth, and even from the small distance that separated them Fai could see the rusty red streaks splattered over the heavy chain slung between Kurogane’s manacles and speckling the warrior's face and forehead. It wasn’t hard to guess exactly how his companion had disabled his foe.

And as if by thinking of the man he drew his attention, red eyes flicked lazily over to where Fai stood unmoving in the circle of bloodied sand that had once been the floor of his fighting pit, drifting over the gore that caked Fai's fingernails and the quick-drying droplets scattered over his face with a slow calculation that made Fai uncomfortable. He didn't like that measuring look, or how Kurogane's gaze remained stubbornly fixed on him in spite of the screaming crowd and the shrieks from those still locked in battle, and the grin he pasted over his features in response must have been ghastly.

Don’t look at me. Don’t pretend you understand me. Don’t think you know me.

But Kurogane wasn’t turning away, and as the seconds stretched on his smile did too. Thinned to the point of transparency, it fell away and left Fai (desperate) exposed, and the roar of the crowd baying for carnage, for violence and sacrifice thundered through him in time with his panicked heartbeat. The knowledge that his masks were being peeled away, inch by cutting inch where that burning gaze fell, twisted in his gut; fear stripped his anger away, and left him cold in spite of the heat that shimmered thickly over the sand of the arena and the sun that beat heavy on his back and prickled sweat on his skin.

The ground shook beneath their feet, rumbling with magic as the last few victors surged forth to the surface once more in clouds of gritty sand; the voices of the crowd rippled through the air in one rising shout as those triumphant raised their hands in a salutation to their owners, their victims screaming and crying in agony at their feet- but bloody eyes stayed on him, refusing to look away. “Don’t do this to me,” Fai whispered, the words barely a breath, a vibration in his throat left unvoiced. “Don’t do this to me. I can’t stand it.”

There was no way Kurogane could have heard him. No way. The distance, the sound, the jubilant roar of the crowd for blood spilled and warriors lying broken in the sand- Kurogane could not have heard that single, murmured plea he’d been unable to stop from leaving his lips. But as the gates of the arena burst open with a bone-shaking crash and the excitement of their audience grew to an ear-splitting crescendo and that piercing gaze stayed on him, a cold flash of certainty that the warrior knew what Fai had spoken spiked down his spine and into his soul.

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The door to the cell crashed open, jarring Syaoran from his doze in the corner and making Sakura sit bolt upright on the musty straw mattress, Mokona shivering where the small creature was huddled against her skin. Stalks crackled beneath her as she backed up against the chipped stone walls- but then Fai stumbled through the door, a cloth-wrapped bundle in his arms and unsteady on his feet from the shove he was given by their “owner”; even so, the bright smile he sent her way upon lifting his head from its awkward stoop did little to soothe Sakura’s jangled nerves. Kurogane wasn’t far behind him, ducking his dark head beneath the stone lintel of the doorway and the heavy chains slung between his wrists jangling as he shouldered his way through the narrow opening as the man who’d bought them from the marketplace barked orders at him.

Kurogane scowled, sending a dark look over his shoulder at the slavemaster, and the door slammed shut in his face with startled haste. “Coward,” growled the warrior, jerking his wrists apart. “Could’ve taken these fucking things off me by now.”

“We heard the cheering,” said Syaoran hesitantly, scrambling to his feet, and reaching out to take whatever it was Fai was holding. “Earlier. You’re not hurt, either of- oh, food!” he exclaimed, unwrapping the cloth eagerly to expose a handful of loaves and a skin of water.

“It’s just bread,” said Fai, beckoning at Sakura, “but we got as much as we could. Here, princess- come and eat some.”

The four of them sat against the wall, Mokona crawling out of Sakura’s ragged clothing to hold the small chunk Sakura tore off, long ears bobbing as Mokona nibbled on the coarse dark bread. Syaoran was wolfing down his share, tearing into the loaf with abandon, and Sakura found she couldn’t help but follow in his lead. Hunger cramped in her belly as she forced her way through the tough crust, jaw aching as she chewed, but she was starving- it didn’t matter that the bread was as dry as sawdust and tasted roughly the same.

They’d been hungry for days, her and Syaoran both; they’d tried to sleep as much as they could, while they waited for the others to return- but it hadn’t been easy, huddled against the walls as the echoes from the arena shook dust down from the cracked stone ceiling, and she’d spent hours feeling her stomach churn while listening to the screams and shouting and waiting for their cell door to open once more.

Most of that feeling was fear. Fear that her friends would be hurt, fear that because of her feather (because of her) the people she’d come to care for would put themselves in danger over and over again- but some of it was guilt that she couldn’t help, that in a world like this she was merely someone to protect, capable of nothing while those she travelled with pushed themselves to the limit for the sake of a quest that shouldn’t have been theirs to begin with.

She stopped chewing, the sudden pain in her chest making it hard to swallow.

“Princess, please eat. I know this isn’t the best bread, but it’s all we have.” Fai’s soft voice jolted her from her thoughts, and Sakura started, dropping her loaf onto her rag-covered lap. Scrambling to pick it up again, she looked up into kind (sad) blue eyes and the magician’s gentle smile. “I promise you once we leave this world for the next, I’ll make you all the sweets you can stand to eat. We’ll have a feast,” he declared, waving his chunk of bread for emphasis.

Nearby Kurogane grunted in disdain, chains jangling as he reached for the water skin. “Sweets and cake, cake and sweets- you know how to cook real food, Mage, or just that sugary crap you love so much?”

“Aww, don’t worry- I’m sure we can cook up something extra special for Big Puppy,” crooned Fai, ducking as the ninja lobbed a broken crust at him with a lazy, underhanded throw. Beside him Syaoran snorted, coughing up crumbs as he tried to stop himself from laughing. Kurogane shot him a glare, muttering something about being surrounded by idiots, and took a long pull from the waterskin, ignoring the lively discussion that sprang up between Fai and Syaoran about what their menu choices would be, even Mokona piping up in a high, clear voice that if jam tarts were to be had, then yes please-

Tears pricked Sakura’s eyes. A sudden hot rush of shame boiled up from the ache in her chest, blurring her vision as she stared down at her filthy hands, clutching tight to the half-eaten lump of bread as though it were a life-line. These people, her friends, were doing all they could to keep their hopes up, and she was just, was just-

“Hey.” Sakura blinked at the sudden weight that bopped down on her head- not hard, not that heavy, but a weight all the same and accompanied by the jangle of chains no less; the few tears that had slipped out trickled wet tracks in the dirt smeared across her face as she looked up at Kurogane, his big hand resting cautiously on the tangled mess of her hair. “If you start crying, the kid’s going to lose it. He’s only brave because you’re here.” Beside him, Syaoran spluttered- but the look in his eyes was serious for all that his face was flushed and flustered, just as serious as Kurogane’s own.

“Kurogane-san,” Sakura whispered, throat tight, and two fat droplets pattered down from her cheeks and onto Mokona’s fur; the little creature in her lap looked up, making a soft, unhappy sound as tiny paws clutched at her ragged clothing. “I’m sorry, I-” she choked, coughing a little as the tightness in her throat squeezed a few more tears out of her, miserable in the fact that she couldn’t even hold them back like she’d been asked to.

“Sakura-chan, everything will be alright.” Fai’s voice was soothing and gentle as always, but there was an undercurrent to his words she couldn’t quite define, something steely and determined. “It will. Tomorrow is the last battle, the last of these staged fights- and your feather is the prize. Kuro-sama and I will not let it be taken by anyone else, I promise you.” Blue eyes met her own, caught them, held her gaze firmly; the knot in her chest loosened and finally slipped free when Fai gave her one of his small, quiet smiles- the rare ones she only saw when he thought she or Syaoran weren’t looking.

“You won’t let yourselves get hurt?” she whispered, bringing her hands up to dash away the tears trickling down her cheeks and wetting her eyelashes. “You promise?” Fai paused and then nodded, slowly, and in that same moment Kurogane’s hand patted her on the head before lifting away with a clanking rattle as the chains between his wrists swung back and forth- the movement was a little awkward, but the gesture meant a lot from the normally taciturn warrior, and she managed a watery smile for them both.

A quick tug on her clothes made Sakura look down again. “Mokona will help too! As soon as Fai and Kuro-pi have the feather, Mokona will open up the magic circle!” The small creature jumped up in her lap, ears bobbing as tiny white paws waggled back and forth for emphasis. “It doesn’t matter where we all are, as long as Mokona can go puu~ we’ll all go to the next world together in one big whoosh!”

“See? It’s fine.” Kurogane cleared his throat gruffly. “Now eat your bread, both of you-” and this with a pointed look in Syaoran’s direction “-and go to sleep. If we’re leaving tomorrow, then we’re going as soon as we get that damn feather, and you’ll need to be ready to run.”

They did as they were bid, her and Syaoran curling up on the mouldering mattress and huddled together for warmth. She’d been so embarrassed at first, to sleep with his arm over her and their bodies pressed so close together, but it was so cold in the cell at night and she was frightened, and really, propriety had no place in a situation like this. She was close to Syaoran now, close to all of them in different ways, but especially this boy who tried so hard for reasons she couldn’t understand- so when he pulled her close and wrapped his arms around her (and she hardly knew him, so why did it feel like they were made to fit together like this?) holding her close under the protective gaze of their friends, it didn’t take very long for sleep to pull her under.

Even tired as she was, or perhaps because of it, her dreams were fitful, uncertain things, dizzy and blurred around the edges like wispy holes burnt through paper, and though once or twice she swam back into consciousness to catch a murmur of soft voices, she couldn’t open her eyes. She thought she heard Fai talking, his normally silken voice low and rough around the edges like it never was when he spoke to her; she couldn’t catch his words, though, and the deep rumble of Kurogane’s response went unheard as she slipped back into the darkness.

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The gates scraped over the packed earth, rattling with the thunder of a thousand impatient footsteps, and dirt fell through the faded, splintered light of the arena’s undercroft in shuddering sunbeams. Kurogane blinked sweat from his eyes, licked the taste of salt from his lips and felt the leather bands he’d been given in place of armour strain across his chest with every breath. Nearby, Fai was seated on an earthen bench, the thin chains of his barbed whip trickling through his fingers, the heavy counterweight swinging by his bare and filthy feet and blue eyes hooded and dark; wherever the man’s thoughts were, it wasn’t here.

This was the last time they’d fight in this world. The fat thug that thought he owned them had actually unchained him for the final battle, which was nice- though the way piggy little eyes had been unable to meet his own as greasy fingers scrabbled with the locks had been substantially better. No weapon, though, just the leather-and-bronze buckler strapped to his arm and the straps across his torso. Still, having the weight and restriction of the damn manacles removed was something Kurogane could be grateful for in this stinking world of fighting pits and dank cells- one of the only things, in fact, the others being that at least the princess hadn't been discovered as more than the slave boy she pretended to be, and that neither he nor Fai had not actually had to kill anyone to keep her safe.

The curse Tomoyo-hime had laid on him burned coolly when he thought about the possibility of betraying her plea to curb his murderous instincts, a prickling sensation that rolled like needles of ice under his skin; every time blood had splattered his face or splashed across his hands from any number of the pit fights he'd been in (all of them violent, dirty and brutally short; it hadn't been hard to smash the fools who thought they could take him down into the gritty sand underfoot, even with his hands chained) he'd felt that chill snake down into his bones, battling against the red rage that did its very best to rise up and take him over and leaving him numb.

He'd swallowed down that same anger so very many times in this world, knew the taste of it thick in his mouth. Anger at the blistering sun that seethed across the blood-caked dirt of the arena, anger at the uncaring winds of magic that dropped them in the middle of the slavemarkets, to be bought and sold like so much chattel; anger at the soldiers with their chains and nets and anger at himself that he hadn't been able to keep their small group (safe) from being captured. Twenty men. Twenty men! What was twenty against the scores of assassins he'd killed in Shirasagi (against that burning night in Suwa where he'd taken up Ginryuu in his child's hands and slaughtered till his sleeves dripped thick and black with demon blood), or the swathe that he had carved through the armies that sought to challenge the imperial forces he had fought amongst?

He really was getting weaker if the possibility of being overwhelmed by merely twenty was something he worried about. And it wasn't like he could rely on Fai for help; the lanky bastard was too busy pretending he didn't care if the brat and his princess lived or died -and doing a terrible job of it at that. Kurogane had heard better lies from children than those that tripped from that smiling mouth, and all Fai’s protestations of indifference seemed to do was make the contrast between his words and his actions so much clearer. There was something soft and sad and terribly human sparking in blue whenever those eyes came to rest on Sakura and Syaoran; a guttering little light smothered by those icy smiles, flickering and weak, but burning all the same. Maybe if the mage was given the chance to let that light burn long enough all his lies would turn to ashes and whoever Fai really was behind that laughing mask (a warrior, a magician, a companion; an honest and broken man he caught glimpses of out of the corner of his eye) could rise up instead.

Without meaning to, the gleam of dusty sunlight on pale hair caught his eye, and Kurogane found himself tracing the familiar, foreign lines of Fai’s face before he could tear his gaze away. Even under sand and sweat and the accumulated filth of however many gods-damned days they’d spent in this world, the man was beautiful- and it made Kurogane angry in a way he couldn’t explain to see how that fake, fractured smile quickly covered up whatever he’d thought he’d seen (honesty) in blue eyes as soon as the mage knew he was being watched.

He ground his teeth, the ache in his jaw something to take his mind from the need to rip that veil away and leave Fai nothing to hide behind, and maybe the mage saw that in his face because that smile fell away and left him still and sober, looking up at him in the dim shadows of the tunnel with eyes aglow, and even the ringing echo of the crowds waiting for blood to spill was drowned out in the silence that stretched thin between them-

-but the moment couldn’t last (because nothing ever did, not the things he cared about) and the sudden rumble that shook the ground beneath their feet as their gate crashed open and the heat of the arena spilled into their small cell in a rush of wind-blown sand and noise; it was time to fight, to smash their foes like so much rubble beneath them, to claim the princess’s feather as the prize for the victor and get the fuck out of this tiny little world as soon as they had it.

And maybe if he just let that red rage rush up and over him, he wouldn’t be thinking about the damn mage so much.

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Her hands gripped tight at the bars, tiny iron flecks cutting into the soft skin under her fingernails as they dug into rust and sending little pinpricks of pain tingling through her fingers, but Sakura forced herself upwards, arms shaking as she huffed a breath through her teeth. The edge of the window, carved from the same gritty stone their cell was built out of, dug into her breastbone and scraped her belly raw as she pulled, but she didn’t stop, and her bare feet scrabbled against the wall as the sudden push from below lifted her up level with the harsh sunlight pouring inside.

“Princess, what can you see?” Syaoran’s hands were warm on her legs, rough with blisters and dirt, and his fingernails cut into the back of her calves- but his grip was steady, and the shoulders she stood on were straight even if they trembled a little under her weight.

“Sky, mostly. Sand, but- I think- I think I can see the arena-”

“Let Mokona see!”

“Whoa-!”

The sudden wriggling weight of Mokona clambering up through her ragged clothes nearly toppled her and Syaoran both, but Sakura clung on to the rusting bars with all she had in her as the small creature bounced over her shoulders and perched upon her head. Tiny little paws grabbed at her hair as Mokona wobbled unsteadily, making her neck bow under the unexpected weight, but eventually they both steadied themselves, and Sakura managed to hold still even as Mokona tip-toed over her head and peered through the bars.

“There!” cried Mokona, waggling one stubby paw towards a shadowy shape. “There, the feather- I can feel it.” Sakura squinted, trying to make out what Mokona was pointing at, but the curtains of sand that whipped about in the strong wind made it difficult. “It’s over there, like Fai said! It was so far away before, but now they have it at the same place everyone is fighting.”

“Princess?” Syaoran grunted, his hands sliding a little further up her legs as he adjusted his grip. His voice was starting to sound a little anxious now, and the tremble beneath her feet was growing stronger as the seconds ticked by. “I don’t mean to rush you, but…”

“I can see it too, Mokona.” And she could, if she strained her eyes; tears blurred around the edges of her vision, the hot wind painful to bear even this far from where it swirled around the buildings in the distance, but she could see the arena, and her knuckles bled white as her hands tightened about the bars. She could almost, almost feel her feather (almost feel the hole it had left inside her), and so soon her friends would be putting themselves in danger to try and claim it back-

No. I will believe in them. I know they will be okay. Everything is going to be all right.

-except that, apparently, Syaoran couldn’t hold her up any more; a soft gasp escaped her as the steady presence beneath her crumpled, dropping away beneath her feet, and for a moment she hung by her own strength, arms trembling as her legs kicked at empty air. Mokona jumped quickly off her head, landing on the tiny ledge under the barred window and tugging fruitlessly on her ragged cloak in an attempt to hold her up.

“Princess,” groaned Syaoran from the direction of the floor, sounding winded but not hurt- as least, Sakura hoped he wasn’t hurt; she couldn’t exactly look down to see if he was alright without losing her grip. “Just drop- I’ve got you, I’ll catch you.”

“I don’t know if I can,” she mumbled, but the choice wasn’t going to be hers much longer as tiny flakes of metal dug into her hands painfully and her shoulders started to burn, a slow wrenching pain that grew tighter and hotter with every passing second.

“Trust me,” said Syaoran, his voice firmer. “I won’t let you hit the ground.”

Sakura closed her eyes. “Okay.” The whisper came at the same moment she uncurled her fingers, followed by a quick, breathless flash of weightlessness that lasted less than a single blink-

(like before, when her feathers left her, pried free by twisting magic; like before, suspended in the spinning darkness as memory fled and she reached hopelessly for an outstretched hand)

-and then she was falling, landing in Syaoran’s arms with a whump as he staggered beneath her sudden weight, falling to his knees with a “oof-!” of breath rushing from his chest, but he caught her, held her tight to his chest, and before she even knew why, Sakura’s arms were around his neck, burying her face in his shoulder as they clung to one another in the dirty, dusty cell. “You’re alright, princess. I have you. I’m not going to let you go, I’m never going to let you go,” he mumbled, and Sakura didn’t know if that was something she was meant to hear or not, but she wasn’t going to say anything. This felt like… like he’d held her like this before, but she didn’t know how he could have; they were almost strangers, after all.

After a little while (seconds minutes hours) Syaoran set her down gently on the filthy floor, face flushed, and Sakura looked away as they both straightened the rumpled rags that were all they had for clothing in this world. Mokona, perched worriedly atop them both, wobbled on the edge of the stone window ledge, little trickles of crumbling sand coming away beneath tiny, furry feet. “Syaoran? Sakura? Are you all right- Mokona was worried!”

“We’re okay,” coughed Syaoran, looking away awkwardly. Even under several layers of grime, his ears were pink. “Don’t worry about us, Mokona- just stay up there and tell us what you see.”

“Okay~! Mokona will keep watch for anything strange. Don’t worry, Sakura- as soon as Fai or Kuro-pi touch the feather, Mokona will know and pull out the magic circle. We’ll all leave together- Mokona won’t let us get separated like what happened in Shura.” The small creature’s sweet voice was determined, and Sakura felt smile a wobbly kind of smile curl across her mouth, not enough to banish the fluttering doubt in her belly, but certainly a step towards that confidence she needed.

“Thank you, Mokona.”

“Mokona is happy to help!” The small creature saluted, the gesture ridiculous with stubby paws, and Sakura found herself giggling in spite of her fears. Things would be all right. Kurogane and Fai were going to do their best, and she and Syaoran should be doing theirs too, even if that meant waiting. Because as hard as the waiting was (and it was hard, sitting here and knowing that she could do nothing more while he friends fought and bled for her sake) she wasn’t sure the fighting was any better.

Please. Please be safe, both of you. Please don’t get hurt.

8888

There were easily more than three hundred slaves pouring into the arena, and by the time Fai cleared the first charge, at least a dozen were dead. Blood soaked into the ground like wine into a sponge, turning gritty sand to gory mud that splashed up over bare feet and leather-strapped legs as these unfortunate ones were crushed beneath the trampling rush of fighters pouring into the bowl-shaped clearing; the shrieks of the dying seemed to spur on the crowd, and the bloodthirsty roar of their audience throbbed in his bones as he darted through the gaps in the sweaty press of bodies, trying to gain enough space to get his bearings.

Fai brought his whip around in a silvery whirr, scarlet splashing over his face and flecking his eyelashes with red as the spiked loops licked across the bare flesh of those that surrounded him in a blur of metal; blinking through the bloody mist his attack had wrought, he stepped quickly across shifting sand (across the fallen ones, just more bodies to line the bloody path beneath his feet) and in spite of the fact he had not the time to spare, his gaze raked quickly over the battling horde, searching for-

Ah. There.

Kurogane was surrounded, but not for long; the small shield buckled to his arm became a blunt weapon as he smashed it across faces and into the bare bellies of those mad enough to challenge him; the space around him cleared quickly as he waded into the masses with grim determination, his opponents crumpling into barely-breathing heaps at his feet. A group of three, working in tandem, came up behind with a thorn-wrapped net- and met their fate just as quickly as the others when the warrior moved with a speed his size belied, taking them down with one crunching swing and leaving the warrior space to breathe as the smarter ones sought out weaker targets.

He shouldn’t have been worried. It was like Yama all over again; even with the mark of his princess’s magic laid upon him (prickling in Fai’s awareness whenever he drew too close, the sharp tingle of another’s magic burned into his companion’s aura as surely as that scar on his left palm) and his killing urges restrained, Kurogane was just as dangerous as Fai himself.

He knew this. Knew it, saw the staggering speed in which the younger man took out his foes with blows designed to maim and cripple if not kill; had been warned by the man who had set him on this quest, the one with dark eyes and the hand that reached into his dimension like an eagle’s claws. This man is dangerous to you. Kurogane was the nearest and greatest source of danger to him- greater by far than any other he had met on this journey, in the carefully plotted course that had been laid before their small group, greater than the petty thugs and killers surrounding them even now. Because if Fai could not charm him (his teases and taunts barely brushing the surface), if Fai could not disarm him (easier to pry the teeth from a dragon’s jaws), if Fai could not bewitch him (his lies and masks and games, all nothing beneath the piercing gleam of red eyes) then he would have to kill him.

And as men fell and screamed and bled, crumpling beneath blows driven with brutal force and terrifying accuracy -here a quick smack to an unprotected throat, followed quickly by a swift chop to the back of the neck with the edge of his buckler; there a flurry of short, calculated jabs to nerve clusters and joints and the soft, tender places left exposed by scraps of leather, all sending men tumbling down like puppets with their strings cut- Fai watched it all with dread pooling in his belly that had nothing to do with the poor idiot charging at him with mace swinging.

Because the threat was not in the fact that Kurogane was a warrior, gods no- and wetness sprayed warm over Fai’s face, stinging and salty where it splattered as he lashed out unthinkingly, his whip curling around the bare throat and shoulders of his oncoming opponent, knocking him to his knees and his weapon from his hands; barbed chains peeled raw skin from flesh in great bloody strips as his fellow slave shrieked in agony and fell writhing to the sand, and Fai shook his head, filthy hair smacking against his cheeks in clammy, twisted locks as he jerked his weapon free, ignoring the slick rush spurting over his feet. Warriors were easy to deal with- give him a weapon and a chance to fight, and even without his magic there wasn’t a warrior alive who could face him in battle.

(not alive, no; asleep beneath the depths of the scrying pool, as deep in dreams as he could be taken)

No, Kurogane was not merely a warrior; Kurogane was more than that, more than he made himself out to be, more than the bloodthirsty killer (who had watched him with cold, dead eyes, blood still smeared warm across his arrogant face and dripping down his neck in thick trickles) Fai had first met outside the witch’s shop. The threat was in what Kurogane was becoming. Something stronger, something better- fierce and protective, determined and courageous and capable of unexpected, terrible kindness; the steely core of him tempered and refined and hammered in on itself to forge a blade meant to guard as surely as it was shaped to destroy its foes.

A rippling scream cut through the background roar of the masses, enough to cut the throbbing press of noise for a few seconds; the sound, raw with agony, was in no voice Fai recognised and so he disregarded it, scanning the thinning crowds of fighters with the same cool detachment he’d always had (he’d learnt to have, in the tower) for corpses. There were less of them now, barely a hundred, probably closer to eighty from what he could make out through the hot clouds of sand that shimmered in thick, clotting hazes around throngs of fighters; certainly not enough to put a halt to the plan he and Kurogane had plotted in the cool, mouldering shadows of their cell last night.

Take out as many as you can, Kurogane had murmured, voice low and dangerous in the dark. Between the two of us, we can take out an army, mage; a rabble like this should be no problem. When we’re the last ones standing- and we will be, he’d added, mouth twisting in the hungry smirk he’d seen so often in Yama, as they’d climbed the ranks of Yasha’s fighters with no intent to ever stop, then we stage a fight between ourselves. The wards around the arena need blood spilled to end the fighting, so we’ll give them that, put on a little show- and one of us gets the feather while the other plays dead. Red eyes had burned where they tracked over his skin. The rest is easy after that.

But it wasn’t easy, was it?

I’m going to have to kill you. Soon. This isn’t blood sport anymore; this isn’t a petty little sacrifice made to appease whatever wild magic they’ve chained to the earth in this tiny, dirty world, and we aren’t friends. You are changing, the clones are changing, I am changing- and I can’t. I can’t. I have to kill you and I-

Fai stumbled over nothing, feet slipping in the rusty brown mud that blood had made of the dirt floor as it churned beneath his feet; he swayed, eyes closed and ears ringing, and a handful of the fighting throng peeled away from the edges of the mass of slaves and headed in his direction, shouting for the kill- their weapons (spear, sword, length of broken chain, no threat at all in hands like those) whistled harmlessly by as he laughed and dodged them all in a blur of movement, the sound bubbling up out of his chest in an unexpected rush that clawed his throat, filling his mouth with the taste of acid. “Play dead, oh. That’s a good one, Kuro-tan,” he whispered, and when an oaken club was swung at his face, he dropped into a crouch and kicked his attacker’s legs out from under him even as his whip lashed out once, twice, bringing all three down in a crumpled splat of bodies hitting muck.

And I-

The arena stank of blood, littered with broken bodies and the air was thick and hot with the groans of the injured and dying; sweat poured freely down Fai’s back, soaking the ragged remnants of whatever filthy tunic he’d been given to wear as a slave, pattering to the ground in fat droplets as he stepped out of the blood-slicked mess and onto dry, sandy earth. His gaze swept about the arena, counting handfuls of combatants where they fought in drifting little battles, and Fai squinted past the glare of the baking sun in time to see Kurogane wade into a small group of survivors with disdain, that piercing gaze fixed firmly on the stone dais fixed to the high walls of the coliseum and the jeering nobles that watched over them all even as he took his chosen victims down with casual efficiency and thinned the crowd even further.

I don’t-

When the quick flurry of dust had settled, Kurogane was left standing over a heap of groaning slaves- and he and Fai were the only ones left standing in the arena.

I don’t want to.

The crowd howled, the sudden rolling thunder of it hitting Fai in the gut like a blow and his knees almost buckling under the wall of sound as it pressed down on them both. Kurogane turned towards him, slowly, and even from the distance that separated them (not enough, not nearly enough to blunt that gaze) those eyes were sharp when they landed on his face. His heart thudded thick in his ears, the chains of his whip jingling in trembling little arcs where the metal barbs hung in a loose fall from his suddenly-shaking hands; Kurogane unbuckled his shield and tossed it away to land in a patch of clotted mud with a sickening splat, sweat dripping from his dark hair and running down his face, cutting tiny little rivers in the grime and filth and blood that caked his skin in great, dirty swathes.

Kurogane grinned, the edges of his mouth sharp and dangerous, and Fai’s blood kicked in his veins, heart pulsing faster and faster in his chest as he started walking; his feet carried him towards the warrior without consultation from the rest of his body, his chain whip spilling from his hands in some unspoken accord (because neither of them needed a weapon) in a glittering, clinking tumble to the blood-spattered sand. There wasn’t much distance between them now, enough that he was close enough to feel the cool burn of the magic Kurogane’s princess had laid on him, her “curse” working overtime now her loyal vassal was in so much danger.

The jeers of the crowd faded to nothing, just a muted rush of static in his ears as Kurogane came to a stop a handful of paces from Fai, and his voice carried on the hot, dry wind that swirled up dusty skeins of sand and dried the mud that caked their bare feet. “First blood calls the victor, mage. You ready?”

No. “Yes.”

There was no starting mark, no warning; Kurogane exploded forth in a blur of movement that brought the audience to their feet, a crashing roar of sound that meant nothing to Fai as he ducked the first sweeping blow. He flipped backwards, springing on one hand, legs spinning in a lashing kick that would’ve knocked Kurogane flat on his back in the dust had it landed- but the warrior ducked and weaved, twisting behind Fai in an improbably fast quick-step, Fai narrowly dodging a punishing jab to his kidneys and it was all he could do hold back the flush of adrenaline that demanded he strike back with a savage counter. Another swing, matched by a blow struck towards his belly, both dodged; Fai kicked up sand beneath his feet as he ducked and weaved, and managed to drive Kurogane back all the same, aiming for what few vulnerable places he could find- but Kurogane’s guard was up, each blow deflected with ease, and space fell between them once more as they both pushed away from one another.

Kurogane pulled back a few steps, and the brief flurry of blows they’d exchanged ceased as they circled each other warily. That grin was gone from Kurogane’s face now, those eyes hot in the shadows of dirt and gore that streaked his face- because he was covered in it, head to foot, both of them were, and Fai knew the blood they sought from each other wouldn’t be the last he’d see splattered across those strong features. It was too easy to picture that face, broken, burned, battered where he’d land the killing blow- maybe he would be kind and snap Kurogane’s neck, wrench his head around in a brutal twist fuelled by rage and fear. Maybe it would be on the battlefield, or in an arena like this one; maybe he’d sink a blade into the soft space up and under the rib cage to pierce the warrior’s mighty heart while he was sleeping and leave him to drown in a puddle of his own blood.

Or maybe he would die, impaled on the steely length of Kurogane’s own sword. Maybe it would be his life, ebbing from his body in bloody waves, one of those strong hands fisted in the cloth beneath his chin as the world grew distant and cold and he slipped into the dark that had claimed his brother-

(where Fai was waiting for him, all alone)

He could see it now, how they might kill one another; so simple to picture the sudden, shocking rush of death coming towards him (glowing in red eyes) and the lashing, desperate blow he swung at Kurogane’s chest was in no way a conscious decision as dread rolled through him. Fai choked, breath catching in his throat at the future that lay before him, before them both (someone dies, someone kills, can’t be any other way) and pain snarled in his chest as he swung again, again, again, panic lending him a frenzy and a strength he had never seen in himself before- and when the first shuddering blow landed, slipping past that perfect guard like a thing possessed, Fai cried out even though the hurt wasn’t his.

Kurogane grunted and didn’t fall- but couldn’t counter the sudden, tearing rage that ripped through Fai like fire, and when he launched himself at Kurogane the warrior skidded back across the gritty sand, his steady stance toppling as he caught a shoulder in the gut. Fai took an elbow in the ribs, his breath crunching out of him in a painful rush, but he didn’t stop, his vision blurring red around the corners as his hands found Kurogane’s throat-

-and the warrior smacked heavily against the ground as Fai dove on top of him, hands squeezing, crushing, propelled by some wellspring of anger deep inside and finding more than enough power to force Kurogane down and to his knees, Fai crashing down on top as the younger man crumpled. His knees landed in the dirt, splaying either side of Kurogane’s waist; Fai slipped across skin slick with mud and gore as he forced himself forward, grinding over Kurogane’s hips in some cruel parody of intimacy that had never (would never) be theirs, and red eyes bored up into his own as his fingers tightened and a choking wheeze trickled through gritted teeth-

-except those eyes weren’t glazing over, those hands weren’t grasping at him, trying to force him away, force him to stop; Kurogane was letting this happen, had been letting this happen right from the moment Fai had lost himself in his own desperate anger and gone for the killing blow.

I don’t, I don’t want to do this-

Before he could even blink, before he could even think about why or how, his mouth was crashing down over Kurogane’s own in a painful mess of clashing teeth, blood spiking hot and salty and bitter into his mouth, a coppery wash across his tongue (and he could never love this taste, never) as he meshed their lips together and swallowed down the startled sound he’d stolen from the warrior in a groaning rush of hot breath. His hands slipped free from Kurogane’s throat, falling to the leather straps that criss-crossed his heaving chest (heartbeat pounding heavily against his sweat-slick palms, sending a shudder rolling through him) and Fai’s fingers dug in bruisingly hard as the biting kiss dragged on, hot and wet and violent; when he finally tore his mouth away with a jerky gasp, his lungs were burning and blood streamed freely down his chin.

“First blood,” garbled Fai, voice shaky and distorted; the noise of the crowd fell to a whispering hush as he staggered to his feet, Kurogane prone beneath him, and red splattered across the arena grounds as he spat his mouthful into the sand in a bloody spray. “First blood,” and the words were almost a scream, magic crackling across the bloodied ground in a whiplash sizzle of heat and noise, shaking the earth and knocking up great clouds of dust, burning up his bare feet and shuddering right through him as he ran for the edge of the arena, each step heavy and slow.

The crowd roared, the stadium shaking; the raised dais above him surged with movement as Fai shouted his claim on the prize offered-
-but even as the feather was given over to his shaking hands (such a small thing to cause so much bloodshed) in a blur of brilliant glowing light between his gory fingers, the sudden wrenching whoosh of Mokona’s magic curling about him and Kurogane both in gusting tongues of wind that whipped the sand into a frenzy of blood and dust and brought on screams from the stunned crowd; even as power lashed at him, ripped at him, pulling at his seams to scatter him into shards of light, breaking him down into tiny brittle pieces to be sucked into the whirlwind and scattered to the four corners of the dimensions-

-he could still feel those eyes burning into his back (burning right through him), and Fai knew that this was no victory.

8888

Sakura hit the water feet first, crashing into shocking cold in a shower of bubbles that knocked the breath from her chest and blinded her as she struggled against the sudden weight all around her. The sudden drop was sickening, have gone straight from standing on the dirty floor of the cell to plummeting through the air, and then knifing downwards into freezing water. She kicked her legs frantically, pushing up towards the distant light above the surface, desperately trying to remember everything someone (Syaoran) had taught her about swimming when she was younger as her breath burst from her chest-

-and almost swallowed a good mouthful of freezing water as a hand closed around her arm and dragged her upwards, crashing through the rippling, fractured surface in a great gasping rush.

“Princess!” That was Syaoran, his hand still curled tight around her arm and calling out to her over the sound of frantic splashing; Sakura whipped her head about, catching sight of the new world they’d landed in at last in a confused blur of greenery and frothing water- a lake, if she wasn’t mistaken, in the middle of a forest; the sky above them blue and flecked with softly curling clouds. But where was Mokona, where were Kurogane and Fai?

Before she could even open her mouth to ask the urgent question, a sudden, roaring thooom-!! rolled over her and Syaoran both, kicking up foam across the rippling surface of the lake as the sky above them tore open in a blinding flash of light; twisting swirls of wind whipped through the split in the clouds, and a shower of dust and sand and grit poured through in a gusting rush as Mokona appeared, wings flared wide and beautiful even as drifts of sand glimmered through the shining space of white feathers-

-and their missing companions dropped through the rift, crashing into the surface of the water in a tumble of sound and movement that shook the water and sent a great wave crashing up over her and Syaoran both; the wind lashed over them as Mokona’s wings folded in a great rush of fading magic, Mokona spinning downwards towards the lake with a joyful wheee~! and a tiny splash as she disappeared beneath the rocking waves. The small creature popped up from the frothing water like a cork, bobbing on the rippling surface as she floated past, only to be snagged by one of Syaoran’s frantically skimming hands.

“The others,” gasped Syaoran, hair plastered to his forehead and mud dripping down his face. He stuffed Mokona into the collar of his shirt, looking around frantically for any sign of their companions. “Kurogane and Fai, they’re still under the water-!”

“We have to help them,” gasped Sakura, but before she could do more than take a another panicked breath, the water near her exploded in a mess of waves as Kurogane burst upwards, great chest heaving as he gulped down huge mouthfuls of air, mud and water and blood pouring down his face in a great filthy rush. He looked around wildly, water flicking everywhere as he snapped his head back and forth, cutting little rivulets through the gore and dirt that caked his face, red eyes burning with some emotion Sakura didn’t recognise.

“Kurogane!” shouted Syaoran, and Kurogane’s head snapped around in their direction as the warrior ducked briefly beneath the water, smearing away the mess of gore and mud from his face with a splash of water.

“Kid-!” His sharp gaze flicked quickly over their small group as they bobbed on the waves, taking stock of what he saw. “Princess, manjuu- where’s the idiot mage?”

Syaoran shook his head, visibly worried.“Fai’s still under the water- he hit it the same time you did!”

Kurogane cursed. “He has the feather- you two try and get to shore, I’m going back down for him-”

He never finished his sentence, however, as a pale hand punched through the surface of the water, and Sakura gasped at the sight of her feather clutched tightly in Fai’s hand, blood and water streaming down his arm as the warm light splintered between his grasping fingers washed over them all in a burst of radiance. Fai’s head appeared a second later, the magician surging up and through the lake’s heaving surface in another riot of waves, gasping for air as he whipped his soaked hair out of his face.

“I’m here,” said Fai breathlessly; the words sounded wet and wheezing. He shook his head, flicking his sopping fringe from his eyes, and splattering little flecks of water everywhere. “I’m here. Princess, we have your feather. Please, we need to get you to the shore.” His free hand sculled expertly across the water, his other arm still outstretched. “Everything’s going to be just fine now.”

Except it wasn’t, because Fai’s eyes were haunted beneath that tangle of filthy pale hair, burning in the mask of gore and filth that covered his face and came away in grimy trickles as water poured down his features. Something terrible and sad burned clear in blue where he couldn’t hide it from them all, and there was fresh blood flowing down Fai’s chin in a slick, red mess, trickling from the corners of his lips in thick lines. Fai coughed, spitting into the water that foamed around his chest, and pink swirls bloomed in the waves sloshing around him, turning them cloudy with blood and dirt as he tried to wipe his face clean. “Fai,” whispered Sakura, unable to keep the horror from her voice, “you’re bleeding…”

“Ah?” Fai seemed to tremble under the sudden focus of the whole group -because all of them were watching him now, especially Kurogane, and the look on the warrior’s face was unlike any Sakura had ever seen before, full of something (pain? rage? fear?) she couldn’t understand. “O-oh, I guess I am…” Fai swiped at his face with a shaking hand, and his eyes widened at the sight of the blood glistening wetly on his fingertips. “I must have bitten my tongue, princess, yes, that’s it- the battle was confusing, you see, and perhaps someone got me with a lucky blow. We can’t all be invincible like Kuro-tan,” laughed Fai suddenly, trying to change the topic, giving her a weak, brittle smile-

-and the sight of his teeth, pink with his own blood, his lips bitten and bruised, bared in some ghastly parody of a smile, was too painful to bear. Sakura looked away, just in time to see Kurogane snarl in rage, the warrior turning away from where Fai bobbed in the water and thrashing towards the edge of the lake with sure, powerful strokes. Watching him step onto the shore and storm across the pebbly sand, Sakura was left as lost in her own confusion as she was in the waves- and evidently Syaoran was too, judging by the worried look he shot in her direction. What had happened, there in the arena where the two of them had been alone together against their enemies? What had happened between them to make them like this?

Syaoran was the next to reach the shoreline, helping her from the water with a firm hand clasped about her own, Mokona clinging tightly to the rages of his clothes; he was worried too, and the look that passed between them both as Fai scrambled to his feet, feather still held tight in his clenched fist (the magician laughing and spluttering and doing all he could to distract from the blood that still dripped in wet splatters from his damaged mouth) was one Sakura understood completely.

“He’s not going to tell us, is he? How he got hurt like that,” she whispered, and Syaoran’s voice was soft and warm by her ear as he sighed, leaning close under the pretence of helping her walk.

“I don’t think so, princess. I think there are some secrets that Fai will never share with us.”

Kurogane was waiting for them all on the shore, ignoring Mokona’s excited babbling as the small creature detached from Syaoran’s clothes to bounce across the rocks and grass in a white blur, and his eyes were fixed firmly on Fai, piercing straight through the layers of bright and cheerful distraction as though he could see something Sakura could not; something had obviously passed between him and Fai, something that only they knew about, something that had left them both bleeding, and it hurt just as much to see them both like this as it did to realise it wasn’t something she could do anything about.

“Come on,” said Syaoran loudly, startling her from her thoughts. “We need to find somewhere safe to give you your feather. And I am sure,” he added, voice dipping low enough that no one else could hear, “that whatever it is Fai is hiding, it’s nothing like as bad as we think it is.”
Sakura nodded, but didn’t say anything, just squeezed her fingers tight around the warm hand curled in her own. Fai glanced over at her, then, eyes darting quickly over her face, and for a brief moment she thought she understood the terrible shadow that darkened blue (loneliness)- but just as quickly his gaze left her, a smile so bright and shining that it was almost blinding pasted over his bloody mouth and she knew even if she did understand, he would never tell her anything.

“You’re right, Syaoran,” she murmured, “I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about.” And even as she said so, Sakura knew she was lying.

~the end.

Thank you for reading! How did I do?
Please score my fic according to these guidelines:
1. How well did this fic fulfill the prompt? (1-10)
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Comments

[zelinxia]

Yeah, someone like Fai would definitely be struggling with holding in all of that. It's not often fandom portrays Fai unleashing his catharsis like that (or if he does break down and cry horribly, it's just as awful).

What's really funny is that (now that caffeine_buzz posted her AU for this prompt) was that my backup idea for this prompt on the AU side was very similar - a tournament in a desert. Except it's some society where dying breeds of vampires are kept captive and are thrust into these tournaments where the best of warriors come and just...beat the hell out of them as a sport (a terrible, pernicious sport). Kurogane, one of the warriors, is pit against Fai the vampire - but in the last minute, he notices how Fai's eye changed momentarily to blue away from the usual gold slit-like pupils then realizes it's all wrong. [/end plot idea don't mind me]

[mikkeneko]

>.> Perhaps this should be written anyway..?