Greed: Humans will always crave power. When the power of the armor is learned, Ryo suffers the consequences. Can the Ronins save him—or better yet, find him?
Contains mature themes and content. Part of the Seven arc.
The Seven Arc: Some are one-shots or two-shots while others are multi-chaptered stories, all meant to be posted separately to avoid confusion. They aren't part of a series, just share a common theme. Thus, they can be read and understood separately.
By: Lost-Remembrance (Red Tail)
Ryo wasn't exactly sure what was going on. As he began to surface from the black shroud of unconsciousness, he felt the beginnings of a headache. With each minute, his awareness to his surroundings grew. He soon began to hear fast-paced voices, which proceeded to thoroughly confuse him. It didn't sound like Rowen babbling on about some inspirational book. In fact, the voice didn't sound familiar at all, and he was pretty sure that the Ronin's hadn't had any one visiting the house last he knew. Mia had been nice enough to let the Ronin's stay all together even after they had defeated Talpa. After the last fiasco with the Nether Realm, they had decided it was safer to stick together.
Ryo certainly was pleased with the arrangement—he got to see his friends every day and wasn't off in some city or in the mountains, trying to make sure hunters or police tried to take Whiteblaze away from him… Why did his hands feel so numb and heavy like dead weight?
He pulled himself away from the sinking, comfortable tide again. He groaned, knowing that the light thudding pain growing in his skull was probably somehow related to the fact that his head was basically lolling forward. He couldn't help but wonder if he had fallen asleep studying in an awkward position again. It tended to happen when he was reading near the fireplace after all.
Ryo blinked his eyes open rapidly, getting used to the almost blinding white light. He could feel the crust on his eyes cracking. He let another groan escape from his oddly dry mouth and tried to move his hands towards his face to wipe the sleep away. They wouldn't move, as if they were bound behind him. His eyes shot opened at that.
Pulling his head up sharply, he felt his neck muscles bunch uncomfortably in a cramp from being stuck in the same position for so long. A sea of eyes greeted his field of vision once the room stopped shifting.
He strained his arms and then turned his aching neck to the side slightly, affirming his original thought; his arms indeed were bound. He tried shifting his feet to get a wider base to try and exert more force on the ropes without toppling over. His plans fell short when he saw his feet were also bound tightly to the chair he was sitting on.
Looking up again, he saw a room filled with people dressed in wealth, calmly sitting in their chairs with medium sized, white paper hand fans.
His initial response, namely "what the hell is going on?" was cut short when an attendant stepped forward, pried his mouth open, and inserted a cloth gag. And indeed did it make him gag. Then he realized what the fast paced voice was: an auctioneer.
Looking around the stage, he only saw himself and the man shooting out words and numbers faster than a machine gun. He saw pictures of him on display, dressed normally and in his subarmor. A chill went through him at the crystal clear shots of his Wildfire and Inferno armor. He turned his head back to the crowd, seeing them eye him like he was a prized champion horse. It was at that moment it all hit him in a rush: he was being sold.