Fix This Dying Soul | By : shadowarashi Category: +S to Z > Saint Seiya Views: 3714 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0 |
Disclaimer: I do not own Saint Seiya, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. |
Rhadamanthe putted his glass back onto the coffee table with a satisfied sigh. Leaning into the comfy armchair he looked absently at the imposing, dark wings of the castle through the large window, head tilted to the side, lost in his thoughts. The fire in the chimney created spotted patterns on the heavy black curtains of the dark, richly decorated room which went unnoticed.
The war was over, his lord had won.
Athena was no more, her order destroyed and all he felt was an intense peace.
Allowing himself a small smirk the Wyvern glanced at the sleeping figure lying on the bed, in the far corner of the room. He had to fight tooth and nails to keep this particular prize, one which almost cost him his life. But in the end, it had been worth it.
Finally leaving the comfort of his armchair, Rhadamanthe walked up to the prone form slowly, stopping only to consider silently the long blue locks of hair, white bruised skin and fair face of the one he had considered to be his personal enemy in this ‘divine’ war.
The saint dressed in tattered clothes and lying among the blankets was still asleep, knocked out cold during their fight by his suicidal attack to assure that the Wyvern wouldn’t be able to go after his brothers in arms. The fight which had almost stripped Rhadamanthe of his life and of his rightful victory. A fight he had nonetheless survived, just as Kanon did.
Rhadamanthe didn’t questioned his good fortune when he woke up, feeling horribly sore and covered in blood but wonderfully alive, the new Gemini saint unconscious next to him. He simply took it as it was; a gift from the gods -or rather a gift from his god- and brought his prey back to the castle of his lord, firmly intended on claiming the price of his victory once the war would be over.
It was only justice after all, and he was given right when he reached the castle only to hear the great news of Hades’ final and total victory in the death of Athena and the destruction of her saints. The gold saints had been destroyed before the Wailing Wall while the twin gods, Hypnos and Thanathos, had reduced the rest of the goddess’s army to dust.
His joy couldn’t have been more completed when Hades himself recognized his value and rewarded him with his own chosen ‘spoil of war’. What better reward then than the person representing all that was left of Athena and her ideals? What better way to celebrate such a glorious day than to make your fiercest opponent, the one person who never learned his place and defied the gods your slave?
A soft sigh shook him out of his daydream, forcing him to focus his attention on the man chained to the bed. He watched as deep blue eyes blinked opened, their owner slowly slipping out of the daze he had been thrown into with an almost confused expression.
Kanon got a grip on himself rather quickly though, to Rhadamanthe’s unspoken approval. He jerked into a sitting position almost instantly when his mind proceed where he was, narrowly missing to strangle himself with the collar circling his throat.
The Wyvern didn’t bother suppressing the smirk adorning his face once more at the delicious spectacle of his captive testing the chains, which were leaving him no chance of escape. Instead he allowed himself to enjoy the fire burning in those wild, jewels like eyes, watching it grow in intensity when they noticed him, the long haired man’s body stilling completely.
"What the hell am I doing here Rhadamanthe??!"
The Gemini saint spat, glaring daggers to the arrogant man standing next to him. He wanted nothing more than to rip the smug look off the spectre’s handsome face but the pressure of the collar held him back.
He was furious, shaken and although he wouldn’t admit it, scared. His question had been more of a survival reflex, the smoke hiding the fire except that the fire was the sudden, ice cold fear lodged deep into the pit of his stomach. The mere presence of the Wyvern but moreover the very fact of him still being alive was all he needed to realise something must have had gone horribly wrong.
Kanon hadn’t count on living past his fight with Rhadamanthe. But here he was, alive, chained and at the mercy of the man he had tried to kill.
A flash of black lightening suddenly filled his vision before he was violently slammed against the wall just behind the bed, his sight turning blurry from the pain and the sudden lack of air brought by the tightening of the chain around his throat. When his eyesight had cleared a bit, the Gemini saint was staring into the golden eyes of one angry, if still smug spectre.
"Now there is no need for yelling, no one can hear you beside me. You were right about one thing though, you are in the Hades and you shall learn your place. Your little war is over, Athena and her order is dead except for you and then again you own your life to me. From now on you belong to me, and by Hades’ order. It is only fitting that the winner claims his prize, don’t you agree?"
Rhadamanthe grinned wickedly as understanding filled the large blue eyes of his slave, replacing the light varnish of confidence with growing horror. He could almost feel something break inside his new toy.
"You lie."
It was barely a whisper this time, his tone calmer than his earlier outburst but full of the underlying treat of something painful, something close to insanity. It was the voice of someone watching all that they hold dear being smashed to pieces, the voice of someone watching their worst nightmare coming to life and who was loosing their last tie to reality.
It was intoxicating.
It was so powerful he had to physically restrain himself from- from doing what exactly? Rhadamanthe pushed the thought away and tightened his grip on the pale, unexpectedly fragile looking neck and with a jerk of his arm, pulled Kanon from his sitting position and made him fall back, falling on top of the still stunned saint, effectively trapping him under his weight.
"I don’t see why I would lie about something like this; you are only adding insults to your case Kanon."
He murmured dangerously, eyes narrowed into two incandescent flames, burning his prisoner’s from the inside out. Kanon could only shiver and hide a wince as best as he could, unable to run away or even look away with his current position.
Rhadamanthe seemed to realise what he was doing and released the pale throat from his crushing grip abruptly, as if he had been burned.
Kanon didn’t move from where he had been thrown onto the bed, all desire to fight stripped from him. In others circumstances he would have reacted, punched the arrogant jerk or insulted him to make him blow a fuse in an attempt to take control of the situation. But this time was different, because he knew the spectre was right. He had felt it in his bones almost from the moment of his awakening, the loss of Athena’s and of her saints’ golden cosmos too enormous to go unnoticed.
And this realisation had nearly destroyed all his will and reasons to fight.
The Spectre of the Wyvern observed the limp and slightly shuddering figure with a blank face, but inside his mind was working at a feverish speed. He hadn’t thought that seeing his enemy like this, so vulnerable and at his mercy would be so… gratifying.
Watching the once proud man’s eyes dulling, lost in an inner battle he was sure to lose, seemed to have awoken something inside him. It had unleashed a feral beast which took pleasure not in its prey’s pain but in the power it held over it, the power to make Kanon’s life easier or a nightmare.
Oh yes, Kanon was his now and he would break him.
He had already deal quite a blow to the saint’s moral but it wasn’t enough yet. He still had a little bit to go before he was tamed. He had to crush his hopes before the former marina even had time to recover.
"You know I speak the truth, Athena has be vanquished and I suggest that you give up whatever illusions you entertained when you chose to join her side. I may add that you better rid yourself of them quickly if you want to live. You are nothing more than a slave starting from this instant and you won’t have your powers or your armor to help you this time. Andromeda, or rather Hades, made sure of it by disposing of the gold cloths. Your fate now lies in my hands; remember that I can dispose of you as easily as I can keep you alive."
The harsh speech had the desired effect, bringing a cold sweat to the blue haired saint. Kanon’s eyes widened a bit, their gaze sharpening to focus on the Wyvern. He bit his lips, fighting the urge to open his mouth and speak.
What was left to say? He now belonged to his worst enemy as a spoil of war and the only people who could have helps him were already dead. Even worse, he was powerless. Kanon felt bitter tears slowly stinging his eyes and willed them back as strongly as he could, head falling downward.
With a pleased nod the blond backed away from the prone form before getting off the bed. Rhadamanthe glanced appreciatively at his new slave, a wave of satisfaction coming over him at the sight of his prey finally properly beaten and stripped of his confidence.
"What are you going to do?"
The ‘to me’ was left unspoken, but Rhadamanthe understood the hidden demand behind the hoarse, slightly broken voice of his nemesis all the same. Had there been anything but total silence in the large room, he would have missed the soft whisper altogether.
"I haven’t decided yet, but it will depend on you."
The spectre drawled as he turned around smoothly and walked out of the room. He locked the door behind him, not from fear of seeing his toy running away but rather to keep out unwanted ‘guests’, and made his way to his side of the wing with a dark smile.
Tomorrow, his slave’s training would begin.
When he heard the sound of footsteps fading away Kanon, not able to hold on anymore finally collapsed, physically and mentally. His body shook with harsh but silent sobs, his eyes closed tightly as burning tears rolled down his cheeks to stain the bed’s sheets. His hands grasped with tearing strength the covers, desperate and broken inside. He fervently wished to wake up, to realise this was only a nightmare but alas, he knew it was the ugly truth.
He was the only one left. Death had rejected him once again and he was in Hell. Everything he had done had been for nothing in the end.
Rhadamanthe was right; he had no illusions of redemption or of a peaceful world to hold onto anymore.
All he could do was cry; cry for all that has been lost until he had no tears left.
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