The Flower of Carnage: Chapter Three

A/N: I really shouldn't make promises when it comes to updates. My self-imposed Christmas deadline for completion got away from me as you might have guessed, and now the story keeps stretching itself out whenever I think of finishing it. I think the final count will stand at five chapters, give or take.

---

"He looks like a girl."

Spencer raised a brow at the curt verdict, setting aside his beyblade and reaching out for the file. "Really? Let me see."

He examined the photograph attached to the thick binder curiously, tilting his head and frowning. "Ivanov does look a bit… feminine," he agreed cautiously, reluctant to judge his prospective captain so harshly before they had even met.

"Feminine my ass," Ian scoffed. "He probably is a fucking girl. Seriously, what the hell is Boris thinking, setting us up with a guy like that? People will take us for a bunch of pansies when they see him."

"But if Boris thinks he is a good choice, we shouldn't–"

"Yeah, yeah." Ian scowled, flopping over onto his stomach. "We'll just roll over and kiss Boris's ass like his opinion actually matters."

The blonde chose to ignore the slight to their trainer and regarded the file more thoughtfully before setting it aside. "I wonder what Bryan thinks of him," he mused. "He was here earlier to bring the file from Boris, and he has a beybattle later with Ivanov. Did he say anything?"

The younger boy shrugged. "Nope. But he almost took my head off for asking."

Spencer looked surprised. "That's weird."

"You tell me. Usually he can't wait to give me all the gory details of what he's gonna do before a match."

Spencer nodded unconsciously in agreement. It was unusual for Bryan to clam up before a match, especially when he was given the opportunity to 'test' bladers of a higher calibre than the usual fare at the Abbey. When persuaded by his teammates or faced with a potential victim, Bryan would often launch into detailed accounts of how he planned to wreak emotional and physical havoc; whether he was in the mood to be merciful and make it quick, or draw out every agonising second just to make it more interesting.

Given the blader in question, Spencer had no doubt that the falcon would be very interested in breaking him. Not because he had been ordered to, not because Tala was unusually good-looking, but simply because Ivanov just seemed… like his type, or something. Spencer grinned privately to himself as he backtracked on his last thought. It was hard to imagine someone like Bryan having a type.

"Man, he didn't have to bite my head off. I mean, come on. It's not like Tala's gonna beat him. No one's been able to beat Bryan for years. But the way he's been acting, you'd think he was actually worried about losing. Have you noticed the shitty mood he's been in this whole week? Ever since Ivanov came, he's been crapping all over everyone for no freaking reason."

The blonde had to bite back his grin now. It was difficult not to notice when Bryan was in a bad mood. At the slightest provocation he would lash out with a ferocity that proved lethal if left unchecked, taking out his fury on everything from equipment to people. The hospital staff had long since given up on threats since Bryan shrugged off severe punishment like a slap on the wrist, and had simply resigned themselves to accepting the students he manhandled with a sigh. Boris, on the other hand, enjoyed these violent episodes tremendously and encouraged vicious behaviour in the dish whenever the opportunity arose.

"Yeah, I did. He's been like this before, but we don't know if it's only because of Tala–"

"And he hardly knows the guy," Ian griped as if his teammate hadn't spoken, flinging one short arm over the back of the couch to haul himself upright. "But Ivanov's got him so riled up, he's taking it out on everything. Seriously, a guy like him can't be that good – I'll give that pretty boy five minutes before Bryan breaks his face."

"You think so?"

"I know so. Come on, Spence, this is Bryan we're talking about. What the hell are you so worried about? I know people have been talking about how good this Ivanov guy is, but he can't be better than Bryan. He won't be."

Spencer only shrugged uncomfortably. He had heard the stories about Tala, of course – he was all most kids were talking about. He would have liked to see for himself, but Boris had stepped up their training program over the past week, and it had been impossible to steal away and catch a glimpse of him. The only one of their group who had been allowed to see Tala was…

"There's still the possibility that Bryan can lose."

Boris never did anything without a reason. He had always been aware of how his protégées functioned as a unit – he had taught them, moulded them, it only made sense that he could grasp their strings and make them dance to his tune. Spencer knew how much Bryan liked the feeling of playing judge and jury, but he also knew that Boris knew exactly how to manipulate that. It was dangerous, at times unpredictable; he used each opportunity of weakness to remind them gleefully that in the end, he was still the puppet master.

The doubt continued to pulse behind his eyes, growing even as he fought to push it down.

"Tala might win."

"Bryan won't let happen," Ian declared decisively, aiming his rifle at the centre of the photograph.

Spencer's eyes followed the path of the gun, settling on the unsmiling face. The same strings lingered behind Tala, jerking him forward to the shackles that would pin him to the path that Boris would choose. He would don the chains they all wore, and it would be his choice. He would believe that. Bryan knew their weight, he had dragged the burden for years now, but despite that, he still held the illusion. The old lie.

"Bryan might not have a choice."

---

"You're not going to disappoint me, are you?"

Bryan blinked hazily, stumbling where he stood. His mind felt fuzzy, like his skull had been stuffed with cotton wool. His vision was blurred, and then he felt certain his brain had been replaced with cotton wool. He would have fallen but a hand, cool and dry, reached out to steady him. He wondered vaguely to who it belonged, but he knew there was only possibility.

Tala stood in front of him, one hand deep in his pocket, lips curved in a secretive smile. "Bryan," he said again, tugging gently on the hand he held within his loose grip. "You didn't answer my question. I can't go until you do."

Bryan shook his head hard. One look at his surroundings confirmed all he needed to know.

"This is a fucking dream."

"Maybe," Tala shrugged. "Does it make a difference? Personally, I don't see that it does."

Of course it does, Bryan wanted to say. Because then it means you're not the real Tala.

He took a closer look at the 'dream' Tala. This one had discarded the Abbey uniform and was clad in a long-sleeved white sweater and faded blue jeans. For some reason he had left his feet bare, and Bryan noted absentmindedly that he had nice toes – never mind that he had no clue whether the real Tala had nice feet or not. All in all, his observation still ended up being rather meaningless because this impostor simply wasn't real.

"Whatever. I shouldn't be dreaming about you. I shouldn't even be sleeping right now."

"Why can't you dream about me?" the dream Tala asked curiously. "I dream about you all the time."

Something inside Bryan twisted. "That's not possible," he said roughly. "There's no way you would know that. You're not real. You're not him."

"And for all you know, I could be," he replied lightly, and then smiled knowingly. "You certainly hold onto me like you believe I am."

The falcon looked down at their still entwined hands and jerked away, swearing loudly.

The dream Tala cocked his head and sighed. "Maybe I should have just kept my mouth shut," he said mournfully, wiggling his fingers in the empty space. "Now it will be a while before I can touch you again."

"Like hell it will. Listen, I have no intention–"

"You don't have a choice," the dream Tala interrupted, giving him an astonished look. "You've already made your decision. I'm here, aren't I?"

"No, that's impossible. I never–"

"God, you are so stubborn," he interrupted again, impatiently this time. "You made your decision the moment you saw me, and you know it, Kuznetsov. You've realised it, haven't you? You know."

"What I know," Bryan countered with a sneer, "is that I promised to kill you. Remember that?"

The dream Tala looked at him, a smile playing over his lips. "Yes," he said quietly. "You did. Of course I remember. But, Bryan… there's something you've forgotten. Something I think you purposefully forgot."

Bryan's smirk faltered as the redhead drew closer until they were barely touching.

"I told you not to disappoint me," he breathed, letting his warm breath glide like silk over the other's skin. "If you need to kill me to do that, do it. I want it. I won't fight it. But when you do… once you fulfil that promise you made to me… you will give yourself to me in a way that no one else will ever have you. Physically, mentally, emotionally, sexually… I will own every inch of you, and you know what? You'd have given it to me because you wanted to. You surrendered yourself because you have nothing else to give. No matter what you do now, after today you will belong to me, and there won't be a damn thing you can do about it."

Bryan drew back. "Bullshit," he said hoarsely. "You're talking absolute bullshit."

"I'm not," the dream Tala said smugly. "I already own your mind, don't I? You can't stop thinking about me. And–" his hand ghosted over Bryan's crotch and felt the reacting twitch there. "I damn sure own you here."

Without a second thought, his fist lashed out, catching the redhead on the jaw. The dream Tala stumbled back before regaining his footing, and wiped one sleeve across his mouth. When he pulled it away, the red stain of his lips were smeared onto the white fabric.

He laughed openly. "That was one hell of a kiss, Bry," he said, admiring the red mark left on his sweater. "Seriously, if you can spare that much energy for a simple kiss…" he ran the tip of his tongue along his teeth, letting the rest of the sentence hang in the emptiness between them. He laughed again.

"Stop fucking with me!"

The dream Tala stopped. "No," he said seriously. "I can't do that. I…I wish I could. I want to do what you want. But…"

Bryan felt like tearing his hair out. "But what?" he demanded harshly. "Why can't you just stop?"

His smile was sad this time. He reached out, just letting his fingertips graze Bryan's cheeks. "I wish I knew," he whispered. "I wish I could tell you what you wanted to know. But I can't. I want to so badly, but I just can't."

He leaned close again, and this time Bryan met him halfway. He couldn't resist it. Their mouths touched and Bryan instinctively drew him even closer, drinking in his warmth, revelling in the sweet recesses that, no matter what he did, he couldn't stop himself from wanting.

"Do you really want this to stop, Bryan? Do you want me to disappear just like everyone else?"

"No," he murmured back, running his hands up and down, sliding his fingers under the sweater to stroke naked skin. "I don't want you to go. I just–"

The dream Tala moaned, arching up into his touch. "Then it's enough," he panted, clutching a fistful of lavender hair tightly. "It's… ah… enough. As long as you keep your promise, it's enough."

"Is it? I don't… feel like it is. It's not enough, is it?"

"That's why you have to trust me."

"I don't know if I can do that."

Tala looked up at him, tightening his grip. "I don't think you have a choice," he said softly.

---

Bryan snapped awake with a jerk when someone shook his shoulder. He shot upright, taking deep gulping breaths as he struggled to throw off the dream.

"Bry, you feelin' okay?"

He turned to glare at the tall boy standing behind him. "Do I look okay?" he hissed, rubbing at his eyes furiously.

"Well…" Spencer scratched his head sheepishly, his cheeks flushing. "Sorry for waking you up. It… it must have been some dream, huh?"

Puzzled, Bryan followed his gaze where it stopped on the obvious bulge in his pants. "Shit!" he cursed, snatching up a pillow to cover the embarrassing spectacle. "Fuck, Spencer, what the hell are you doing in my room?"

The blonde ignored the question. "You have a beybattle in fifteen minutes. I came to see how you were doing. Why were you sleeping?"

Bryan swore again, swinging his legs onto the floor. "I was just resting my eyes for a minute," he said shortly, moving towards the bathroom. He twisted the tap, leaning his elbows on the basin as cold water gushed into it. Had he only been sleeping for thirty minutes? It had felt more like hours.

Spencer followed him, standing in the doorway. "You shouldn't be sleeping during the day. You shouldn't need to," he persisted.

The falcon gritted his teeth before splashing icy water over his face. He stared at his dripping reflection, hating the dark smudges under his eyes. He didn't need that idiot Spencer stating the obvious. Of course he shouldn't be sleeping during the day. Of course he shouldn't need to. It wasn't his fault that his sleeping patterns had been thrown completely out of whack by Tala, either.

He saw Spencer still standing there, watching him.

"If that's all you had to say, you can go. I don't need you mothering me."

The older boy gave him a speculative look and hesitated. "Bryan, if there's something you want to talk about–"

Bryan's hands tightened their grip on the basin. "There isn't. Just get out."

"Fine. If that's what you want."

He saw disappointment in Spencer's eyes before he walked out, and he felt like laughing. What the hell did he expect? Did he expect Bryan to break down and confess why he was so fucked up right now? Or did he want them to have a heart-to-heart, to talk about his problems like it would make a shred of difference? No, Spencer didn't have a fucking clue. He would never be able to understand.

Bryan would never confide in him or Ian. They were pawns in the game, just like Tala. He couldn't allow them to obstruct his judgement, therefore he could not bring himself to fully trust them. That was the way the Abbey worked, the only way he could exist here with them. At a distance, always at a distance. He told himself that it was his nature, which it was the only way he knew to operate.

But that didn't apply to everyone. Not to Tala.

He stared at his reflection and smiled sourly. And here I thought Spencer was the only one with a talent for stating the obvious.

---

His mouth was dry but he couldn't drink.

Tala stood staring at the still dripping tap, knowing that even the slightest drop would send him running to the toilet to throw up even thought there was nothing left in his stomach. Just thinking about thirst made his stomach clench painfully. He risked taking a deep breath, giving his reflection a hard-hearted glare.

It was pathetic, and his nerve failed him as he slumped to lean his elbows against the basin.

Did he look like the future captain of the most elite beyblade team in Russia? No, he just looked like crap, he decided with a scowl, turning his head this way and that. His sleepless nights were catching up to him, leaving his skin looking blotchy and carving out dark hollows underneath his eyes. He looked sickly and weak.

It didn't help that he felt the same way.

Tala scowled at his reflection. "How pathetic am I?" he muttered. "I'm reduced to this within a freaking hour just because I have to blade against Bryan."

His stomach tightened again, reminding him rather unnecessarily that his intestines had twisted themselves into knots.

He wished he could work up some of his earlier confidence again, even the slightest bit just to make himself look vaguely threatening. Bryan would not be intimidated by this wraith-like version of Tala Ivanov. Boris would certainly not be impressed by it. No one in their right mind would.

Now the terrible ache also bloomed in his chest. Tala felt the overwhelming need for someone to hold onto – if someone could just stand beside him and hold his hand, it would be enough. No matter how much he told himself that he didn't need someone to hold him, no matter how much he scorned himself for having it, it refused to go away.

"God, I am pathetic."

But Bryan didn't think so. And he had heard the words from Bryan's own mouth, hadn't he? The thought made him flush with pleasure, even as the realization sank in that his current state would ultimately only disappoint the other boy.

Tala straightened, mouth tightening in annoyance. This was crap. Why was he standing here, worrying himself into an aneurysm about what Bryan would think?

Bryan didn't matter.

Bryan couldn't matter, not now. Not when he would have to… not when he would be forced to–

He trembled, grabbing the sink to steady his shaking hands. I have to snap out of this, he told himself harshly, swallowing the nausea threatening to overwhelm him. Bryan doesn't care what happens to me, why should I care what I do to him? It doesn't make a difference either way. He's going to try and kill me if I can't fight back… no, there'll be no 'trying' about it. He will kill me if I fail. And he won't give a damn about doing it, either.

So I shouldn't care about what happens to him.

I shouldn't.

And I won't.

Tala raised his head, twisting the tap open with a decisive motion. Cupping one hand under the faucet, he brought a mouthful to his lips and drank deeply, resisting the urges to throw up. The water tasted good, and he smiled, bending down to drink more. It cleared his mind somewhat and he focused on taking deep, even breaths to concentrate his thoughts on the beybattle.

No matter how much it felt like it, Bryan was not the final hurdle. He was not the end. No, defeating him would only be the beginning. As cliché as that sounded, it was the truth for Tala. Nothing was going to happen to end it all, this was the beginning.

He only wished he could believe it.

---

"Is this all you have to offer, Balcov?"

The old man seated before Boris sneered, tossing the file carelessly down on the ornate table between them. He leaned forward, fixing a sharp gaze on the director and pointing his cane like a gun to the photograph attached to the folder.

"This is the best you have to show me?" he repeated scornfully again. "I suspected you were wasting valuable time and money, but to dare show me results such as this…"

Boris flinched. "Lord Voltaire, the boy has a unique talent that I have tested extensively," he protested. "If he remains here, I will be in a position to hone his skills to the point where he will be able to execute our plans flawlessly. Tala has the desire for power that will ensure he remains utterly loyal to the cause, and I can assure you that by placing him as captain, the chance of failure is reduced by almost eighty percent."

Voltaire stroked his chin thoughtfully, giving the photograph another cursory examination. With a sudden predatory gleam in his eyes, he turned to the figure seated beside him.

"And what do you make of this Ivanov?"

Boris's gaze flickered to the young man seated at Voltaire's right hand and he swallowed the intense dislike that welled up in his throat at the mere sight of him. The arrogant little bastard had deemed himself too superior to train here at the Abbey, and spurned Boris at every turn, constantly belittling him like he was a fool. Oh yes, Kai had the Hiwatari arrogance bred into him and that same breeding allowed him to do or say whatever he liked to Boris. Of course, just because Boris was rendered powerless in that respect did not mean he had to like the boy. He despised Kai and made it patently obvious whenever they were alone together.

"Based on what? His looks?"

Kai tilted his head as he spoke, sounding only amused, but his eyes went straight to Boris, knowing that the director realised the jibe for what it was.

"Come, come," his grandfather chided indulgently, but there was a cold warning underneath it. "I imagine that Boris would only be grateful for you observations at this point before he wastes any more time on a worthless venture. Did you forget that, Balcov? Kai was always so astute is judging your former candidates and eliminating them before they became liabilities. I think that you do owe my grandson your gratitude."

Kai smirked, flicking a lock of slate-blue hair out of his crimson eyes.

"I am always indebted to Kai for pointing out my… mistakes," Boris bit out from behind clenched teeth. "However, that is the reason I requested your presence here today, my lord. I wished to show you personally what this boy is capable of and that this time my choice will prove to be beneficial to you and Biovolt."

"He had better be, Balcov. I grow tired of waiting for results from you."

"And you will have it today," Boris promised. "I arranged for Tala to exhibit his skills against Bryan Kuznetsov."

"How original, Boris. The delicate little flower against the big bad wolf. Could you possibly have any less imagination?"

Again the taunt. Of course not, you little shit, he wanted to shout. I have specific reasons for doing what I did, reasons you could never understand. If you knew half of what I did about what goes on between Tala Ivanov and Bryan Kuznetsov, it would wipe the smirk of your face faster than my fist could!

"I find it interesting that you think so little of Bryan, Kai, yet you never bothered to challenge him."

"It would not be much of a challenge," the boy returned easily, "if I even bothered at all."

Boris fumed silently. How dare this brat insult his students so indifferently? And he even had the nerve to enjoy doing it!

"Bryan is the most elite blader in the Abbey," he snarled, momentarily for getting in whose presence he was in. "If you had half the talent you profess to have, you would have tried to set your skills against his years ago. You–"

"Enough, Balcov."

His jaw clenched shut obediently and Boris nodded in defeat, hating that Kai was always witness to that weakness.

"I want to see this Ivanov perform as soon as possible," the old man continued sternly. "You have wasted enough of my time as it is."

"The exhibition match is scheduled to begin in fifteen minutes," Boris informed him stiffly as both men rose. "As it is your wish, I will escort you to–"

Kai unfolded himself gracefully from the settee. "I want to meet Ivanov before that happens."

Boris's eyes narrowed. "I'm afraid that won't be possible," he said smoothly. "Perhaps afterwards I could arrange for Tala to speak with you–"

"I said before, Boris."

He knew very well he could not refuse that order in front of Voltaire. "Very well," he said reluctantly. "Someone will escort you now, if that is your wish."

"Oh, it is," Kai reassured him mockingly. "I'm looking forward to meeting someone you think so highly of."

Boris shot him a resentful look but snapped his fingers. An Abbey guard entered immediately, saluting all in the room.

"See that Master Kai is escorted back to the central arena after he has spoken with Tala Ivanov in the second dormitory of the east wing," he ordered abruptly, shooting a calculating gaze at the younger man. This was unusual behaviour, and it worried him. Kai never expressed a personal interest in any of the students, but when Boris stared at him, the heir to the Hiwatari empire only stared back at him with a contemptuous expression.

"Don't you have anything else to do beside stare at me, Balcov?" he asked in an amused voice.

Boris glared hatefully at him, but swept out of the room behind Voltaire without another word.

Kai laughed to himself. The man was so easy to provoke, so open to insults and jibes… so weak. Pathetic, really. He reasoned that the only explanation why his grandfather would let a fool work in such a position of power was that he was smart enough to do what was needed, yet stupid enough to do exactly what he was told.

His gaze drifted down to the photograph again, caressing each elegant line on Tala's face.

So… Boris finally did something interesting. The delicate little flower versus the big bad wolf… Tala and Bryan.

This should be enough to hold his attention. For now, he added privately, smiling slowly to himself.

TBC