Categories > Anime/Manga > Beyblade
Disclaimer: I own nothing and no one
A/N: This is my second in a series of oneshots about Tala.
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'He used me...' The realisation hits home with force and he staggers as though it were physical. Sliding slowly down the wall, he comes to rest dejectedly upon a cold stone floor, staring with blind eyes at the figure standing over him.
"I'm sorry Talla." His voice is detached and heartless, emerging from a soul so isolated from everything around him he has forgotten what compassion sounds like.
Sin is a questionable thing. They say sin is to be jealous, or selfish, or lazy... They say murder is a sin. Does that mean, then, it is a sin to contemplate murder? But then, which is the worse sin: To take the life of one's tormentor, or stand idly by while he instead takes the life of your true love? Of course, it is all hypothetical, but still valid points.
These are the thoughts flashing through the wolf's numbed mind as he gazes with starless eyes at both his tormentor and his love. And that is the irony of the situation, and undoubtedly, it is twisted, but it is not his only torment. The real clincher is that, even through all the hate and the pain, he knows he still loves...
'But he used me! And now we're through, because I can't help him anymore...'
"Goodbye, Talla." And that was what broke him. After everything he had seen, everything he had done and everything he had been - it was those two small words which tore through him mercilessly until, inevitably, he broke.
He watches him leave silently as the foundations of his world crumble around him. He feels like the floor is made of glass, and it has just shattered beneath him. He falls, plummeting into darkness and ice, falling further until he feels himself turn numb. And everything disappears...
Left alone in the silence, the coldness and the darkness, he ceases to care anymore. Why should he? What's left? What option remains when everything he has known - loved, even - has been ripped cruelly away, and he is left, metaphorically naked, naïve, unknowing what to do next when he is shoved forcefully into stark and painful clarity... Ignorance was better. It was dark and safe, and although it is humiliating, looking back with the illumination of unfavourable light, at least he had lived briefly with the belief that everything had been perfect for a while... even if it had never been the truth.
It is as if the only thing that had been holding him up, the only thing separating him from everything that strove to tear ruthlessly at mind, body and soul, had been the support of the other. And now... now it is gone, and he can only pray silently, hopelessly, as the dark things he fears seep into his mind once again. He cries out, but there's no one left to hear...
This is it. This is the nightmare that had been glazed over by reality, but which was now slowly breaking free of its constraints. Like oil, it oozes into being, adapting, changing, contaminating the already damaged fragments of a once unbreakable spirit. But even the finest crystal can take only so much thrown against it. This was breaking point; the moment in which seemingly unquestionable strength gave out. This was it and nothing mattered anymore...
'I deserve this.' The words seem alien within his mind, but he cannot but acknowledge their truthfulness. After everything he has done in his time, it almost seems expected... And the screams start up again inside him. Shying from the memories, he casts frightened eyes around for distraction, but the shadows have already dragged him under too far. He sees nothing but a distant past as it surges up to greet him with sinister, chilling relentlessness.
Raised voices, yelling, shouting, anger resounding all around him... The pain, loss and sorrow, quickly concealed... Everything fading, becoming muted... More voices, new voices, screaming again, but in fear... Begging... Degradation... A scarlet tide painting his soul with violence... Pain... A silver knife, a saviour, and himself as its wielder...
And now it occurs to him for the second time in his life that there is, at least, one more option left to him...
Briefly, the shadows retreat from his unfocused mind. Dazed eyes are met with a strange sight; an icy pair alike his own, gazing back with the same distraught expression... Reflected... A mirror, he realises.
And yes, now he sees himself as he knows the truth to be. His defences stripped, barriers broken, he can see himself for what he is - and he weeps for the realisation. The demons inside him rise up with an unchallenged rage, as he is overcome by all that he has fought down for so long now. Anger, grief, fear and hatred for almost every person that had touched his life. But, more than any of the others, he feels the darkest, most vicious of the shadow-like monsters within him tearing furiously away, slowly disintegrating whatever may be left of him... Self-loathing.
With a broken cry, he lashes out at the reflection of himself. It shatters, tiny shards of glass falling to the floor like the tinkling remains of his spirit - both of which marred by the crimson shadow of blood.
But the sobbing doesn't stop as exhaustion finds him and he falls to the floor, the glass piercing his skin. And with each wracking spasm, he cringes away from the nightmare, the memories and the looming reality of what he is steeling himself to do. Sorrow cascades as saltwater and scarlet rain, streaking through him and inciting the inner demons, who scream and claw for his submission.
He cries out again, desperately pleading - for someone, anyone, perhaps to God or just no one, merely the need to voice his helplessness. He sees the faces from the depths of memory, their expressions torn away in his mind. But their eyes condemn...
Tears continue to fall from the frozen circlets of his eyes, as if the impenetrable ice is finally fracturing and falling away to reveal the depths of the hidden torment beneath. But he is resolute. Through the pain and the grief, he is still who he always has been, however damaged. Somewhere, hidden, perhaps, from the destructive forces dwelling within him, the iron will somehow remains intact. And he draws on it now, as his fingers find the glass knife he has created. Its edges slice into his skin, but the physical pain is almost welcomed.
It is touched to his wrist gently, almost caringly. A sharp, crystalline caress never meant to be loving...
And it is on that precipice - the very verge of a dark, isolated death to which no one should play witness - that Fate decides to intervene. It is almost cruel. Another muffled sob escapes him as he braces the makeshift weapon - but it's too late.
"No!" he shouts in broken frustration as the shard is hurled from him. Blood - someone else's blood - stains its reflective surface. He is too far gone to take note of the person grasping his shoulder, before pulling him into an almost violent embrace. Defeated yet again, deprived of his final escape, the wolf weeps plaintively, comforted only by his unwanted rescuer.
A voice is speaking, but it does not register. Forcefully, he is manoeuvred until he finds himself staring into a pair of scarlet. For a moment, he recalls the brief flash of fire in those eyes, the strength and defiance... but the recognition is gone a moment later. All he sees is the colour of blood, like the crimson tides in his memories...
"Talla!" His rescuer, his condemner, shakes him in some attempt to restart his dulled mind.
A spectrum of emotions are displayed before him, floating on the surface of the two scarlet pools. Anger and scorn flare abruptly, only to die out, to be replaced by concern and confusion and... something else...
It is only then that something stirs. Eyes of ice meet those of fire and dissolve of the contact. Tears return as he chokes out a single name.
"...K-Kai!..."
Crimson eyes widen as he is again pulled closer. But this time he is aware enough to know what has been done to him. He has been thwarted. Denied the decision that should rightfully be his. In fury, he pushes away as hard as he can, with a barely coherent shout of outrage.
"...Talla..."
Without the protection of his glacial barriers, the gentle whisper of his name cuts through him as surely as the poised edge above his wrist might have done. The usually cold, emotionless eyes stare at him, searching, imploring, hoping...
With an effort, he resists the pull of the tempting comfort he can see in the other. It would only fade, he tells himself.
"Talla, please..."
"Stop it," he grinds out, voice bitter and hardened beyond years. "Stop trying to... to save me... I don't want to be saved, Kai!"
The phoenix continues to gaze helplessly, watching as love lies bleeding, dying, behind cerulean eyes.
He weeps silently as he continues to plead - not for his life, but for his death. "Kai... let me go. Please... Just let it end..." There is a note of such desolate misery held in his plea that it is a trial for the other not to just give in and politely turn away, allowing the wolf to act out his final desperate solution...
But he does not turn away. He cannot. There is too much to lose...
"Talla... I can't let it end. I won't."
"Why?!" he cries, reduced to childish demanding. He bats away the hand that reaches for him, but he is drained, and is no match for the persistence of the other. Exhausted, he finds himself crying weakly, held in an uncertain embrace. And although he is bitter, envious and angry towards the phoenix, he cannot deny the comfort derived of the contact. Giving in, he collapses completely, leaning into the other as weariness overcomes him.
A small droplet lands gently on his skin, and it is only then that he realises that he is not the only one silently crying. Curious despite himself, he attempts to pull away, but is stopped once again as the other abruptly tightens his hold, concealing his face against the wolf's neck. Still without making a sound, he shudders slightly.
His rebuke is sudden and startling. "Damn it, Talla! You can't die! You can't... can't leave me alone again!"
The wolf tenses, feeling the tears splash onto his shoulder from the weeping phoenix. He hears the words, but they don't seem real in his ears. It is too difficult to believe someone would cry for him, would beg for his life rather than their own...
"...Why?" he whispers, unsure of himself.
Slowly, the phoenix raises himself, not bothering to hide the obvious mask of emotions he displays. "Why do you think...?" he whispers back, and without another hesitation, leans in.
The contact is almost one borne of necessity. Their lips meet in a kiss that is not affectionate so much as desperate. It is hungry, passionate, but above all else, needful on both parts. Lust is not a factor to them as they clash. Perhaps, in some ways, there are traces of a certain form of... well, if not love, then ardour. But, for the moment, they exist merely as a lifeline for the other...
"Please..." the plea was repeated. "Talla, don't..."
The answer is returned with quiet resignation and, perhaps, without the bitterness that might be expected:
"I can't... You won't let me."
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Sakuri: Well this was an odd little one-shot. I have no idea where the hell it came from... Oh well. Please review, tell me what you think. Criticism welcome as long as it's constructive.
A/N: This is my second in a series of oneshots about Tala.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
'He used me...' The realisation hits home with force and he staggers as though it were physical. Sliding slowly down the wall, he comes to rest dejectedly upon a cold stone floor, staring with blind eyes at the figure standing over him.
"I'm sorry Talla." His voice is detached and heartless, emerging from a soul so isolated from everything around him he has forgotten what compassion sounds like.
Sin is a questionable thing. They say sin is to be jealous, or selfish, or lazy... They say murder is a sin. Does that mean, then, it is a sin to contemplate murder? But then, which is the worse sin: To take the life of one's tormentor, or stand idly by while he instead takes the life of your true love? Of course, it is all hypothetical, but still valid points.
These are the thoughts flashing through the wolf's numbed mind as he gazes with starless eyes at both his tormentor and his love. And that is the irony of the situation, and undoubtedly, it is twisted, but it is not his only torment. The real clincher is that, even through all the hate and the pain, he knows he still loves...
'But he used me! And now we're through, because I can't help him anymore...'
"Goodbye, Talla." And that was what broke him. After everything he had seen, everything he had done and everything he had been - it was those two small words which tore through him mercilessly until, inevitably, he broke.
He watches him leave silently as the foundations of his world crumble around him. He feels like the floor is made of glass, and it has just shattered beneath him. He falls, plummeting into darkness and ice, falling further until he feels himself turn numb. And everything disappears...
Left alone in the silence, the coldness and the darkness, he ceases to care anymore. Why should he? What's left? What option remains when everything he has known - loved, even - has been ripped cruelly away, and he is left, metaphorically naked, naïve, unknowing what to do next when he is shoved forcefully into stark and painful clarity... Ignorance was better. It was dark and safe, and although it is humiliating, looking back with the illumination of unfavourable light, at least he had lived briefly with the belief that everything had been perfect for a while... even if it had never been the truth.
It is as if the only thing that had been holding him up, the only thing separating him from everything that strove to tear ruthlessly at mind, body and soul, had been the support of the other. And now... now it is gone, and he can only pray silently, hopelessly, as the dark things he fears seep into his mind once again. He cries out, but there's no one left to hear...
This is it. This is the nightmare that had been glazed over by reality, but which was now slowly breaking free of its constraints. Like oil, it oozes into being, adapting, changing, contaminating the already damaged fragments of a once unbreakable spirit. But even the finest crystal can take only so much thrown against it. This was breaking point; the moment in which seemingly unquestionable strength gave out. This was it and nothing mattered anymore...
'I deserve this.' The words seem alien within his mind, but he cannot but acknowledge their truthfulness. After everything he has done in his time, it almost seems expected... And the screams start up again inside him. Shying from the memories, he casts frightened eyes around for distraction, but the shadows have already dragged him under too far. He sees nothing but a distant past as it surges up to greet him with sinister, chilling relentlessness.
Raised voices, yelling, shouting, anger resounding all around him... The pain, loss and sorrow, quickly concealed... Everything fading, becoming muted... More voices, new voices, screaming again, but in fear... Begging... Degradation... A scarlet tide painting his soul with violence... Pain... A silver knife, a saviour, and himself as its wielder...
And now it occurs to him for the second time in his life that there is, at least, one more option left to him...
Briefly, the shadows retreat from his unfocused mind. Dazed eyes are met with a strange sight; an icy pair alike his own, gazing back with the same distraught expression... Reflected... A mirror, he realises.
And yes, now he sees himself as he knows the truth to be. His defences stripped, barriers broken, he can see himself for what he is - and he weeps for the realisation. The demons inside him rise up with an unchallenged rage, as he is overcome by all that he has fought down for so long now. Anger, grief, fear and hatred for almost every person that had touched his life. But, more than any of the others, he feels the darkest, most vicious of the shadow-like monsters within him tearing furiously away, slowly disintegrating whatever may be left of him... Self-loathing.
With a broken cry, he lashes out at the reflection of himself. It shatters, tiny shards of glass falling to the floor like the tinkling remains of his spirit - both of which marred by the crimson shadow of blood.
But the sobbing doesn't stop as exhaustion finds him and he falls to the floor, the glass piercing his skin. And with each wracking spasm, he cringes away from the nightmare, the memories and the looming reality of what he is steeling himself to do. Sorrow cascades as saltwater and scarlet rain, streaking through him and inciting the inner demons, who scream and claw for his submission.
He cries out again, desperately pleading - for someone, anyone, perhaps to God or just no one, merely the need to voice his helplessness. He sees the faces from the depths of memory, their expressions torn away in his mind. But their eyes condemn...
Tears continue to fall from the frozen circlets of his eyes, as if the impenetrable ice is finally fracturing and falling away to reveal the depths of the hidden torment beneath. But he is resolute. Through the pain and the grief, he is still who he always has been, however damaged. Somewhere, hidden, perhaps, from the destructive forces dwelling within him, the iron will somehow remains intact. And he draws on it now, as his fingers find the glass knife he has created. Its edges slice into his skin, but the physical pain is almost welcomed.
It is touched to his wrist gently, almost caringly. A sharp, crystalline caress never meant to be loving...
And it is on that precipice - the very verge of a dark, isolated death to which no one should play witness - that Fate decides to intervene. It is almost cruel. Another muffled sob escapes him as he braces the makeshift weapon - but it's too late.
"No!" he shouts in broken frustration as the shard is hurled from him. Blood - someone else's blood - stains its reflective surface. He is too far gone to take note of the person grasping his shoulder, before pulling him into an almost violent embrace. Defeated yet again, deprived of his final escape, the wolf weeps plaintively, comforted only by his unwanted rescuer.
A voice is speaking, but it does not register. Forcefully, he is manoeuvred until he finds himself staring into a pair of scarlet. For a moment, he recalls the brief flash of fire in those eyes, the strength and defiance... but the recognition is gone a moment later. All he sees is the colour of blood, like the crimson tides in his memories...
"Talla!" His rescuer, his condemner, shakes him in some attempt to restart his dulled mind.
A spectrum of emotions are displayed before him, floating on the surface of the two scarlet pools. Anger and scorn flare abruptly, only to die out, to be replaced by concern and confusion and... something else...
It is only then that something stirs. Eyes of ice meet those of fire and dissolve of the contact. Tears return as he chokes out a single name.
"...K-Kai!..."
Crimson eyes widen as he is again pulled closer. But this time he is aware enough to know what has been done to him. He has been thwarted. Denied the decision that should rightfully be his. In fury, he pushes away as hard as he can, with a barely coherent shout of outrage.
"...Talla..."
Without the protection of his glacial barriers, the gentle whisper of his name cuts through him as surely as the poised edge above his wrist might have done. The usually cold, emotionless eyes stare at him, searching, imploring, hoping...
With an effort, he resists the pull of the tempting comfort he can see in the other. It would only fade, he tells himself.
"Talla, please..."
"Stop it," he grinds out, voice bitter and hardened beyond years. "Stop trying to... to save me... I don't want to be saved, Kai!"
The phoenix continues to gaze helplessly, watching as love lies bleeding, dying, behind cerulean eyes.
He weeps silently as he continues to plead - not for his life, but for his death. "Kai... let me go. Please... Just let it end..." There is a note of such desolate misery held in his plea that it is a trial for the other not to just give in and politely turn away, allowing the wolf to act out his final desperate solution...
But he does not turn away. He cannot. There is too much to lose...
"Talla... I can't let it end. I won't."
"Why?!" he cries, reduced to childish demanding. He bats away the hand that reaches for him, but he is drained, and is no match for the persistence of the other. Exhausted, he finds himself crying weakly, held in an uncertain embrace. And although he is bitter, envious and angry towards the phoenix, he cannot deny the comfort derived of the contact. Giving in, he collapses completely, leaning into the other as weariness overcomes him.
A small droplet lands gently on his skin, and it is only then that he realises that he is not the only one silently crying. Curious despite himself, he attempts to pull away, but is stopped once again as the other abruptly tightens his hold, concealing his face against the wolf's neck. Still without making a sound, he shudders slightly.
His rebuke is sudden and startling. "Damn it, Talla! You can't die! You can't... can't leave me alone again!"
The wolf tenses, feeling the tears splash onto his shoulder from the weeping phoenix. He hears the words, but they don't seem real in his ears. It is too difficult to believe someone would cry for him, would beg for his life rather than their own...
"...Why?" he whispers, unsure of himself.
Slowly, the phoenix raises himself, not bothering to hide the obvious mask of emotions he displays. "Why do you think...?" he whispers back, and without another hesitation, leans in.
The contact is almost one borne of necessity. Their lips meet in a kiss that is not affectionate so much as desperate. It is hungry, passionate, but above all else, needful on both parts. Lust is not a factor to them as they clash. Perhaps, in some ways, there are traces of a certain form of... well, if not love, then ardour. But, for the moment, they exist merely as a lifeline for the other...
"Please..." the plea was repeated. "Talla, don't..."
The answer is returned with quiet resignation and, perhaps, without the bitterness that might be expected:
"I can't... You won't let me."
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Sakuri: Well this was an odd little one-shot. I have no idea where the hell it came from... Oh well. Please review, tell me what you think. Criticism welcome as long as it's constructive.
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