Into the Abyss

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FIC : Into the Abyss
Author : Sagakure
Fandom : Saint Seiya (Knights of the Zodiac, Cavaleiros do Zodiaco, Caballeros del Zodiaco, Chevaliers du Zodiaque).
Pairing : Rhadamanthys x Kanon (also, Saga x Kanon; also everybody x Saga).
Rating : NC17 (For angst, mature content, and possibly bondage/bdsm. Don’t read if it’s not your cup of tea).
Warnings : Set post-Hades war.
Disclaimer : I do not own Saint Seiya. Saint Seiya is (C) of Masami Kurumada, Toei, Shueisha, Akita Shoten and quite probably some more people. No copyright infringement or disrespect intended here. This is a work of fanfiction, done completely for fun. No profit is taken out of it.
Thanks : To Dani, for being a wonderful beta, and to Betty for helping too! :D
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[Into The Abyss – Scene VI] – Time To Learn Your Place.


Pinned to the cold stone ground, his weakened body covered in a mix of sweat and blood, Saga felt a most disturbing familiar sensation.

Thick, semi-dried blood from the previous beating ran from his wounds, down his face and from his mouth and nose, making it hard for him to breathe normally and filling his lungs with a smell he had been used to since his early training years. But for some reason, here it was different.
Maybe it was the combination of the stone ground of yet another part of Hades’ domains and the blood itself, but something in it strongly reminded the gold saint of another smell. Not his own blood, not the smell he was used to.
It reminded him of something so far away that it seemed like another time. A dark castle, a white sheet, soaked in red, thrown down in the ground. And him, fallen too, struggling to get up, his nostrils desperately filled with the scent coming from the sheet, a mix of blood, death and hope, with a hint of sweetness and bliss so strong that it wrenched his heart and instilled in him forces to try to get up again one more time, to fight for all that this delicate scent represented.

To fight for her.

But there was no more her to fight for, was there? At least, not here.
She didn’t need him anymore, and he was left behind. Or so his captors kept repeating. But it wasn’t true. It could never be true. He knew it was impossible. Right?

In his mind, even if such a thing had actually happened, rather than feel abandoned or betrayed, he felt relieved to know that she wasn’t there. That she was safe, in a place where the sun shined and her other saints could protect her. Which is why he smiled, and didn’t care if he was nearly passing out from the pain, beaten down on a cold stone ground deep into some moist basement of yet another nightmare-like castle belonging to Hades.

He smiled, a genuinely innocent smile that puzzled his captors, and that drove them to hit him harder for good measure.

He was happy that she wasn’t there, because he knew he wouldn’t have been able to protect her in his current condition.

And he was happy that she wasn’t there to see what happened next.


*** * ***

Far away from there, in the residential areas of the first Sphere, Caina, in the second floor study of a Victorian style mansion, a judge of the Underworld and his newly acquired slave stood facing each other.

Lighting a cigarette and disguising his arousal with a casual look, the judge sat on the leather couch and ordered in a firm voice – “Take off your clothes. All of them.”
He was going to enjoy this, but he wasn’t going to let his slave guess the effect he could have over him. But oh, how he was going to enjoy this.

Fumbling nervously with the ties of his shirt, Kanon, gold saint of Gemini until a few weeks ago –- or could he still be considered a saint despite being now a slave? –- did his best to comply with the order as fast as possible, despite his broken hand getting in the way and making things difficult.

The little red dot glowing among the dim light of the room had a strange effect over him, as if it was watching him. For some reason, the casual behavior of the specter, smoking and acting as if it was nothing, unsettled him more than what he thought would have happened. Maybe because he was more afraid of not knowing what to do and of having to take initiatives in a totally unknown territory, than of Rhadamanthys simply throwing him down and taking the lead. Although he didn’t know for sure which of these possibilities would be worse. Perhaps it was unavoidable that he felt unsettled and frightened, no matter what route the act followed. For he believed there was going to be an act. A sexual one, that is.

This was it.
This was when it would happen.
What he was most scared of, as stupid as he might feel for fearing something that simple.

It wasn’t the rape in itself that he feared, but all that went along with it, the sensations, the implications, everything. The fact that despite him officially already belonging to the judge, this was going to brand him as such, in a way that couldn’t possibly be erased. At least not from where it mattered, from his body, his conscience and his memory. It was going to take away from him the very only thing he still had left, he who didn’t even have freedom anymore.

Unsure of what to do to his clothes, Kanon half-folded-half-dumped them on the glass table nearby. The fire burning fiercely in the chimney was the only light in the room other than a small lamp at the other end. The fire’s reflections dancing on the walls and ceiling gave the room an eerily look, and the gold saint –- former gold saint, perhaps -- could swear that the judge’s eyes were glowing as brightly as the cigarette that remained idle between his lips, smoke escaping from it slowly and mixing with the air to fade away uncared for.

Now naked, the gold saint stood there, and did his best to look like he still kept a semblant of pride or self-respect. A helpless flush over his features, he wondered nervously if the judge was pleased by the spectacle or not, and why he was so silent, until the next order came.

“Turn around. Let me see everything.”

The breath catching in his throat, Kanon complied, turning slowly, his arms hanging by his sides to expose all of his finely chiselled body to the light from the flames that sent a thousand little flickering golden butterflies dancing all over his skin.

He could swear he heard a sharp intake of breath coming from his enemy –- former enemy, perhaps –- but he wasn’t quite sure. Back to his original position, Kanon waited, uncertainty filling his features as time went by without anything of what he was expecting would happen.


Rhadamanthys was captivated by the sight in front of him. It took him quite an effort of willpower to remain unmoving and not cross the space over the table to touch his new possession immediately. But he couldn’t go that fast, he had to remain in control. Kanon could still get the advantage, if he were to realize how the specter’s mind worked and learned to push the right buttons to make him react.

He had to break him first.

Otherwise, Kanon would never truly be his. It was vital for the judge to never let this slip out of his mind, or what could be the perfect slave would possibly turn once again into a feisty enemy. And while he did like the feistiness that was inherent to the gold saint, he abhorred the idea of losing his newly conquered trophy.

He had to make sure that Kanon was completely his. Only when his slave would be completely broken and truly feel in his very core that he belonged to Rhadamanthys, would he be perfect. Only then, the judge would be able to rest assured that nothing could take Kanon away from him.

Dragging on the cigarette and exhaling the smoke slowly to prepare his voice, he composed an angry expression, gestured to the bands wrapped around Kanon’s forearms, and let out, coldly – “I told you to remove all of your clothing! Have you forgotten so fast that you are to obey every single one of my commands? Or perhaps you need some punishment already.”

The surprise hit Kanon full blast. He was expecting anything but this, especially since he had previously removed the bandages that protected the wounds on his torso, legs and belly exactly because he thought the judge would want to see those areas of his body. He didn’t expect such anger to seep through the specter’s voice simply because of the arm-bands, a thing that all saints sported around their wrists and forearms.

The thought that despite their deal, the judge might feel less inclined to help Saga if his slave’s performances didn’t live up to his expectations made Kanon wince, a reaction that Rhadamanthys was far from missing, and that utterly delighted him, to his own surprise.

Struggling with the uncooperative fingers of his broken hand, Kanon unwrapped the bands from both of his arms hesitantly but as fast as he could, and dropped them on top of the rest of the clothes, biting the inside of his cheeks and stifling a few whimpers that were about to escape his lips every time that his wounded hand was jerked the wrong way.

Delighted by the reactions of his slave and his cast down look, Rhadamanthys dragged on the cigarette again, careful to not let his feelings show on his face. This would be an important part of the training… He had to sever all ties Kanon had with his past, and what better way than having the man enter this house with nothing that belonged to him? Sliding to the edge of the couch, the judge gave a little approving nod to his slave and grabbed the pile of clothes.
“Good… Now, it’s time to get rid of those rags.”- He declared, and flung them into the fire that still burned strongly in the fireplace.

That’s when all of a sudden everything plunged into chaos.

As the judge threw the clothes into the fire, he saw from the corner of his eye the expression of uneasiness and shame on Kanon’s face suddenly turn into one of utter horror, and the ex-marina leapt after them. Stopping him before he could reach the fireplace, Rhadamanthys attempted to tackle his slave, but to his utter surprise, Kanon, who seemed now completely lost in his urge to rescue whatever it was, answered with a mighty elbow strike between the judge’s ribs, that partially knocked the wind out of him. He didn’t think that the saint still had that energy in him, because of the state of his wounds and how emaciated and weak he looked, but the utter surprise -– both at the strength that Kanon still had, and at the completely unexpected reaction on the part of a man who had just swore to be his slave –- made the judge lose the grasp he had on the man’s arm, and Kanon threw himself forward, fearlessly plunging his hands into the fire to retrieve something. After a quick moment, he had identified what he was searching, pulled it out and was now slamming on it with his wounded hands, putting out the fire and making a mess of charcoal, ashes and embers on the wooden ground, a crazed look of urgency on his face.

After staring in disbelief at the strange behavior for a second, Rhadamanthys was himself again, and felt the blood rush to his head in anger. Getting up, he lunged for his slave and back-handed him hard across the face, throwing him down backwards.

Reality –- as well as the gravity of his act -- seemed to be quickly dawning on Kanon too, for he stared at the judge with a look of horror, and took the blow without even blinking or trying to avoid it.

Furious at his slave’s act of rebellion, and seeing that he still clung to the strips of fabric he retrieved from the fire, Rhadamanthys pinned Kanon to the ground and used all of his own weight to crush the gold saint’s injured left arm against his chest, earning a piercing scream of pain. Yet, Kanon just wouldn’t release the chunks of cloth, and the resistance enraged Rhadamanthys, who punched him in the face, and had to use extra amounts of control over himself to resist the temptation of beating him senseless or using his cosmo to attack, which would quite possibly be fatal considering his victim’s state.

Resorting to a more intelligent solution, Rhadamanthys yelled at him, in a voice as loud and commanding as possible, and the shock cut down Kanon’s resistance.
“SPEAK!! TALK TO ME!! Why are you doing this?!”

Contradictory urges, as well as a great deal of panic, filled the gold saint’s features. Once the panting had slowed a little, the fear mixed with the pain and something more, that the judge couldn’t quite identify yet, brought Kanon to the verge of tears, and still clinging to the strips of fabric that the other man tried to tear from his hands, he whispered among whimpers, in a shaky voice – “This…belonged to Sa…to Saga….when we were children. He put them… on my wrists, and…it…it’s the only thing I’ve ever had from him… You have… no right to take it from me!!” – Before his voice nearly broke into sobs.

It was a mistake, of course.
Everything until the last assertion would have been fine, but Kanon’s feeble attempt to protect his relic only earned more fury from the judge. Painfully wrenching the saint’s broken hand, Rhadamanthys tore the cloth out of it and threw it towards the fireplace, under the anguished screams of his slave, who didn’t even seem to mind his wounds anymore.

“You are going to have to learn that unlike what you might have imagined, I have ALL RIGHTS over you! Life and death included!!” – The judge’s patience was far gone, and he raised his hand to hit Kanon in the face once again. The gold saint winced and clenched his jaw waiting for the blow that never came. When he dared to let go and opened his eyes to see what happened, Rhadamanthys’ punch slammed right into his unprepared face.

Getting up, the judge wiped the blood from his hands -- stained because of Kanon’s wounds -- and stared at the prone form in the ground with a mix of fury and fascination.

Trashing around on the floor, Kanon was sobbing hard, clearly of rage. What the judge didn’t know is that it wasn’t directed entirely at him, but much more at the gold saint himself, for having screwed things up so badly.

Stupid. Stupid, stupid! How could he have gone as far as forgetting the importance of the situation he was in?! Granted that those arm-bands were all that he had, but losing his mind like that… That was it, now he had ruined it all. Saga would be lost, and it would be all by his fault. Was he going to remain unworthy to the very end, and always ruin everything he ever touched?!

The misery that Kanon’s own thoughts brought him was such that his body was shaking hard now, silent sobs making him choke on the blood that flowed freely from his nose and mouth.

Standing over him -- with a sizeable amount of anger at the rage he believed directed at himself -- the judge pondered what course of action would be best to ensure that the lesson was learned, and that the gold saint knew who was in command here. While he reflected on the question, and to his utmost surprise, Kanon gathered whatever was left of his forces and managed to get on his knees.

Hesitating whether clinging to the specter’s clothes was a good idea or not, the gold saint saw how much of his own blood there was on his hands, and ended up giving up on that part, not wanting to risk bringing anymore anger over himself. He straightened himself on all fours, and lowered his head as much as possible.

“Ple…please… punish me…as you see fit. Please…I…beg of you.” – The saint’s voice was weak, but the words couldn’t be clearer.

Rhadamanthys felt as if his body had just been hit by the freezing cold of the Cocytus, yet burned inside as fiercely as the lava from the 6th prison. And although his recent anger as well as the state in which his slave was had reduced his arousal, that sight and those words sent it back soaring sky-high.

He controlled himself nevertheless, but didn’t know what to make of his slave’s plead, and hesitated on how he should react to orientate the situation to his best advantage.

Kanon mistook the judge’s silence for anger or indifference and panicked. Reiterating his pleading, he crawled closer on his hands and knees, although he didn’t dare to raise his face to look at the other man’s, thinking it might be perceived as a sign of disrespect. His voice was so shaken that he was barely comprehensible, especially since he was short-breathed and was panting heavily. His sight was blurry, and he felt so dizzy that he was afraid he wouldn’t be able to stay conscious enough to beg. All shame now forgotten, the only thing that occupied the gold saint’s mind was to get through to Rhadamanthys before the last of his forces ran out. Only then, only if the judge acknowledged his plead and punished him, it would mean that he still considered him his slave, and that there was a chance for Saga.

“Please…please. Do…n’t…throw me away… Punish me as…as badly as you…want…but…plea…se…don’t thro…w…me…away… Pleas…e…please….” – Kanon’s arms and legs were straining to keep him in the position a little longer, but to his utter despair, he couldn’t go on talking. His voice as well as every single muscle of his body seemed to be betraying him, and he fell on the ground, partially on his side, with a look of absolute horror that wasn’t missed by the judge.

Crouching by the shivering form, Rhadamanthys lifted his face carefully, as if trying to understand what the nearly conscious man was trying to say. Mouthing the words without managing to voice them, Kanon kept pleading, despair and something worse than terror filling every fiber of his body.

Parting the wet clumps of dirty hair that clung to the wounded man’s face, Rhadamanthys looked into his eyes, but other than the tears streaming down Kanon’s face, all he saw in them was fear and utter despair. No defiance, no resistance, no regrets, no pride.

Nothing of what he was seeking to break.

He knew that he must remain vigilant, for they were more than likely to return as soon as the saint’s forces would do the same, but in the meantime, the man shivering under his touch and whimpering trying to speak didn’t need anymore pain. The lesson was learned, and he didn’t even have to make use of any of the more powerful arguments he thought he might need to muster.

Such was how far Kanon’s love for his brother went, that the simple thought that he might have ruined Saga’s chances was enough to throw him in such a state, and make him abandon his pride so completely? The judge would make sure to remember that for the future, just in case.

For now, he just ran absent minded fingers over the bruised and blood stained skin of Kanon’s cheek, a pang of guilt stabbing at his conscience as the gold saint shivered and tossed about, lips shaking and trying to form words, still clinging to his desperation and need of a sign, any sign, that their deal still held.

Worried that it might worsen the saint’s wounds even further, Rhadamanthys hit a pressure point on the base of the Kanon’s neck, making him fall unconscious after a few last spasms struggling to remain awake, and a sickening noise that made the judge worry that his new slave might have choked to death on his own blood or something.

The ex-marina’s resistance and determination when he had his mind set on something were certainly impressive, the judge mused while lifting the limp body off the ground.

This could prove to be something very useful in the future, if it was properly exploited…



*** * ***




The specter read out loud from the memorandum in his hand.
“Saga, gold saint of Gemini, charged with several counts of high treason, and a number of other crimes.”

He continued, this time speaking to the prone form in the ground.
“You had already been judged for treason before, the previous time. And not just one count of treason either, although there was only one main charge. Didn’t you have enough the first time? How many lives do you plan to ask for in order to betray more gods? Quite impressive, I have to admit. But it won’t do you any good.”

No reaction. Apparently, the gold saint was getting so used to their insults that he didn’t even bother to look like he heard the man. The specter walked around the small table he was sitting at, and tried to get a better look at the prisoner’s face. It was to no avail, as it was partially covered in caked blood and hair, some of it glued to the blood. His patience slipping away fast, he launched a powerful kick into the saint’s mid-section, sending him crashing against the nearby wall, and tearing a surprised cry from his dried lips. Not letting the prisoner any time to catch his breath back, the specter crouched by him and grabbed a handful of hair, lifting the gold saint’s face enough for them to be able to look into each other’s eyes up close.

“I am Rune of Balron, Saga. Pleased to meet you. You know, I really don’t like your little brother. I wish we knew where he winded up, but until then, I think I’ll have quite a lot of fun with you. It is such luck that you two should look so strikingly similar. But that’s not surprising, now, is it? Gemini, twins like your constellation. I think I’m going to really enjoy this.” – The leer in Rune’s eyes was quit obvious when he passed the tip of his tongue over his lips.

In an unexpected moment of near suicidal tendencies, Saga spit blood into the specter’s eye, earning quite a colorful string of underworld curse words in surprise.

“I don’t know what Kanon did to you, but I’m proud of him.” – It was the first time that the Gemini saint’s voice was heard between these walls, shaky and on the verge of breaking from the continuous pain and strain he had been going through, but strong and filled with the pride the gold saints were known for, nevertheless.

“Oh, you won’t be for long. Believe me!” – The specter warned, furiously wiping the blood from his face with a crumpled cloth, and pulling out the whip from his surplice.


*** * ***



He was back to dreamland.

Nightmare-land would probably be more appropriate, actually, considering the kind of dreams that visited his sleep.

In his better days -- or hours, for he couldn’t quite tell how fast time was passing -- he was nearly conscious enough that he could vaguely tell that he was in a bed, with people taking care of him. Who or where though, was a total unknown. It was a big old-style bed with a canopy, filled with huge, comfortable pillows, and maybe softer than any bed he’d ever been in throughout his life. The bed was white, so white. Even the top of the canopy and the curtains hanging from it were pristine white. He felt like a child, in that huge white bed.

He whimpered, and tossed around again. In his dream, his brother was looking at him, his eyes filled with sadness and disappointment. They were children once again, standing on one of the many rocky hills of Sanctuary, but excluding his own body, everything had turned grey and looked dead, even Saga.

He tried to talk to his brother, tried to explain, tried to apologize, but Saga wouldn’t speak. He just kept staring at him with that accusing gaze. He tried to touch him, but in the moment his fingers grasped the other boy’s training clothes, Saga’s whole body broke into pieces and disappeared. Kanon fell to his knees crying and hugging himself. He couldn’t see his brother, but he still felt his presence.

“Sa…ga…where are you? Why won’t you talk to me?”

A hand on his shoulder. He turned his head quickly to see who it was, and froze in shock.


“I can’t talk to you, Kanon. You killed me. No, worse yet, you threw away my salvation and condemned me to eternal agony.”

Kanon couldn’t tear his horrified eyes out of his brother’s face. There was blood running down Saga’s mouth, more and more blood. He clung to Kanon with an iron grip and soon, the blood started pouring from his eyes, ears, hair, everywhere, and he let out an anguished scream as what was left of him splattered the younger twin’s face and arms in a gush of gore.

Kanon was screaming too now, soaked in blood, but he just couldn’t manage to get loud enough to cover Saga’s voice, that echoed inside his head.

“I’ll never find peace, Kanon. I hope you’re happy, now you have your revenge.”

The younger of the Gemini twins sank into oblivion, but unfortunately for him, it was a short-lived oblivion, that just morphed into a new nightmare.

This situation had lasted for two days, and was going on to the third one, although for Kanon it seemed more like an eternity.

From time to time, his conscience floated close enough to the surface to vaguely see and hear the forms leaning over him, cleaning him or wiping the sweat off his face. He must be feverish again, or at least he could swear he had heard an unknown voice saying he was burning. He hoped it was just fever, and that he wasn’t burning for real, but his mind was too weakened to process the thoughts well. All he could do was feel, feel the horror of his nightmares, feel the dulled sensations of the world around him, feel the bandages covering so much of his body, feel the fabric rustling lightly over tender skin scarcely healed.

Feel people wrapping something around his neck, wrists and ankles? He frowned through glazed eyes, but his lids felt too heavy, and he could only keep them open them for a second. Were they measuring something on him?
It didn’t really matter.
It was as if he was losing interest in whatever was happening to his own body, too busy focusing on his despaired attempts to talk to the Saga in his nightmares, but it was to no avail.

Sometimes he saw himself in his dreams. Another himself. Stronger, yes, but cruel, ruthless, destroying all that he cared for. He couldn’t stop the other, and everything was ruined, once again. Was this his doing? The results were the same, after all. He cried and cried, but his mind kept wandering without aim, as if he was traveling through different dimensions, yet unable to control it. If only it really was the case, then he could be able to return on his own with the Golden Triangle, but in the sea of nightmares, he was as lost as a child.

Fire. He could hear the sound of fire in the darkness. Was he really burning like they said, then? After struggling for what for him seemed like hours, he managed to slightly lift his eyelids, but the fever made his vision blurry, and it was late and dark. The curtains hanging from the canopy of the bed were open, tied to the bed posts, and he could see most of the room, although the shadows and the blurriness veiled the details from him.
There was fire in a fireplace. For some reason, the sight of the fireplace brought Kanon even more pain, but he couldn’t quite remember why, in his state.

A man, or at least a human figure of some sort, was sitting in an armchair not too far from the bed, a newspaper over his knees. Whoever it was, he had blond hair, and seemed to be asleep or dozing off, his head leaning on the headrest of the chair. Kanon wondered for a moment if it was Rhadamanthys, but he dismissed the thought as quickly as it came, for it was impossible that the judge would be watching over his sleep.

The place looked like a house, but there were tubes connected to Kanon’s arm, leading to little IV bags that hung from a small metal frame on top of the bed-side table. Was he in the hospital again? It didn’t look like it, but maybe it was another hospital? If that was the case, it meant that the judge had thrown him out.

Why not have simply killed him? It would have been more merciful.

Perhaps too merciful, and he didn’t deserve it.

His throat constricted remembering that he had failed. He had all the problems solved with the deal, and Saga was going be fine… or in any case, as fine as one could get in that situation. At least, if all went well, he would receive help and have a fairer judgment, rather than some kind of endless lynching.

Kanon’s foggy mind remembered shards of the talk the judge had with him the night he arrived at the mansion. Rhadamanthys had accepted to do what he could to see if the case could be guided into judging Saga for everything else but the charges of high-treason against Hades. Being in the Underworld as a saint of Athena, and furthermore a gold saint, the Gemini saint wasn’t in the best situation to start, but he could plead innocent to the treason charges since he was supposed to do all that he could to protect his goddess. Rhadamanthys was going to see if they could drop the charges that were filed considering Saga as a specter and as a traitor because of his faked allegiance to Hades, and that were the ones most likely to get him the worst sentence.

The judge accepted the deal and gave him his word that he’d do all he legally could to prevent the judgment from being unfair, but then against all odds, Kanon had gone and ruined everything.

The very only thing he had to do was let the judge do whatever he wanted to him and just obey, but not even that he did right.

He covered his mouth weakly, afraid of making noise and attracting attention. The fever seemed to be burning worse, but it might just be that his head felt hot because of sobbing so hard. He managed to remain silent, but his body was agitated by the shaking, and the tears running down his face felt cold against his overheating skin. Part of him kept screaming in his head that he should just die and get over with it, but he already had tried that, and wasn’t able to succeed even in such a simple task.

At this moment, he hated himself more than he ever had in his whole life.

He didn’t have a single shred of hope left in his body, and his mind was too raw and scarred to consider, even as a very remote possibility, that the judge might accept to forgive him and to go on with their deal.

Curling into a ball underneath the blankets, Kanon buried his face in his forearms and wished the sun wouldn’t rise the next day.

Or at least, that it would rise for everybody else but him.





******


[To Be Continued]
[Next Scene : “A New Awakening.”]
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Sagakure, January 19th, 2006