The Lamentation of Innocence

The room he was taken to was decorated in black and gold. This was not the first time he had seen such an elegantly decorated room. The rooms of his former masters had been decorated like this. It seems that all of his masters liked to show off their wealth. If he ever became a rich man like his masters, he would do the same thing he supposed.

They say that a mad man lived in this room. A seldom seen gentleman that was feared by many. The people of the town depended on him for his business, but none would dare make their knowledge of him anything but business. To be able to install this type of fear in people, who only saw him at rare occasions, was something that the boy could admire.

A throne set on a dais in the middle of the room, everything else in the room seemed to revolve around the throne. It reminded him of a king\'s throne room. Maybe the man was a king. Servants stood at the foot of the dais, others standing against the wall, all of them watching him. There was a dull look in their eyes, all of them pretty, most likely broken slaves from some other district, town, or city.

\" Here he is Master,” the servant standing beside him said, the man placing a heavy hand on his shoulder, gripping tightly. Feeling the man\'s hand trembling, he wondered if the man was frightened of the one sitting on the throne.

The man who sat on the throne was not the man that had purchased him that day. That man was standing to the side of the throne, wearing yet another expensive black suit, sunglasses hiding the man\'s eyes from view. The corner of the man\'s mouth moved up slightly, before once again fading into the stern look that had been there before.

The man on the throne could not possibly be the same man that brought fear to the people of this town. The man seemed frail, his body hidden in the folds of the bulky black kimono he wore. Cold blue eyes watched him; almost in the same manner a snake would watch its prey before going in for the kill. The man\'s hair, which was to his shoulders, had been cut unevenly.

\" What, is your name boy?\" the man sitting upon the throne asked, shifting slightly to rest his cheek against his fist. He did not like the look of this boy; that much was obvious from the way he looked at him, the corner of his mouth turned down in a little frown.

\" My name is Zight,” the boy answered, his voice unwavering, despite the uneasiness that was slowly beginning to grow in him.

The man did not like his name either. He frowned, shifting once again before rising to his feet. As he did, several of the servants backed away from the dais, while others watched him in fear. It pleased him to know that his presence caused them discomfort. They were smart to fear him.

\" I don\'t like that name. Did your master give you that name?\" the man asked, pausing at the foot of dais.

He most definitely did not like the look of this boy. Despite the boy\'s age, one of his servants had said the boy was sixteen; the boy was much taller than him. Most of the slaves he kept were shorter than him, the shorter they were, the weaker they were. He did not believe it proper for a master to have to look up into the face of a slave.

\" It\'s the name I was born with,” Zight answered, remaining still as the man came closer. The servant standing beside him tightened his grip on him, and this time Zight was sure it was due to fear. Why did all the servants fear this man? If one could call his new master a man, the man looked more like a woman.

The slap was sudden and unexpected, the boy\'s head turning to the side. Several of the servants gasped; the man standing beside the throne lost his look of calm. They all watched the man, who was looking at the boy with a smug look on his face. The bright red palm print on the boy\'s face stood out like a beacon.

\" A slave should not stand higher than his master,” the man said, glaring daggers at the boy.

Zight glared back at his master, gingerly placing a hand against the bruise forming on his face. Despite his new master\'s appearance, the man did not hit like a woman. He was more surprised than he was frightened. Had the servant\'s hand not been on his shoulder, he would have gladly returned the blow.

\" Then perhaps the master should not be so short\" Zight replied.

It seemed that everyone in the room, including the master, had been stunned into silence. This was the first time that anyone, much less a slave, had talked back to the man. The surprised look on the man\'s face became a look of fury, a look that many of the servants had seen before. Only this time they were thankful that the look, or the rage and fury that accompanied it was not directed at them.

There was nothing said, only the sound of flesh striking flesh. They watched, some in horror and others in relief, as the fey man unleashed his fury on the boy. As blow after blow was landed on the boy\'s frame, he stumbled slightly, silent as he was knocked to the floor. The servants admired him for being able to take the beating without uttering a single cry.

Blood spilt upon the carpet, the boy\'s body becoming a quivering mass of bruises. The moment he tried to run, he was held down by the servants. Two burly men, he was unable to do more than struggle, the beating quickly taking his strength from him. Standing above him, striking him repeatedly with his fist, the man seemed to be lost in his own bloodlust.

\" Perhaps I should reduce your legs to nothing more than bloody stumps?\" the man asked, kneeling beside the boy, a large knife clutched into his hand.

As the blade of the knife dug cruelly into his flesh, Zight finally screamed out. He watched the blood pour from his legs, watching it cool and puddle beneath his leg. There were no over dramatic screams of pain, only the loud groaning of one who could no longer speak due to the pain. Every inch of his body felt on fire with pain, all centering from his leg.

It was an almost surreal feeling as he watched the blade go deeper into his leg. The servants were crying at this point, crying out for their master to stop his madness. One even asked if the man meant to disfigure the boy. The situation was almost hilarious in Zight\'s mind. They all wished the man would stop, but none were brave enough to stop it. At this point, even he was wondering if the man truly meant to cut his leg off. It did not seem to bother the man as blood sprayed, staining not only his kimono, but his face also. In fact, the man seemed to enjoy it, giggling insanely as he once again slid the knife across damaged and torn flesh.

\" Master Korin stop!\" the man standing on the throne finally called out, his deep voice ringing out through the room.

The man paused, glancing towards the throne. There was a frown on his pretty doll-like face, looking like a child who had just been told to stop playing with his toys.

\" But Kuronue... He has been bad\" Korin said, his voice soft, letting out a noise that was almost like a whine.

The man, Kuronue, carefully made his way to his master. In situations like these, the man had learned that approaching his master as one would a child was the best way to handle it. The boy lay on the floor bloody and pale, he most likely would bleed to death if he did not receive medical attention.

\" I know he has been bad, but you do not want to break your toy so quickly do you?\" Kuronue asked, moving to his master\'s side. Gently, he placed his hand on the man\'s shoulder, pulling him back slightly. \" It\'s almost time to eat, you should come and wash up.\"

Korin frowned slightly, looking down at the bleeding boy once again. The frown remained on his face, even as he let the knife slip from his fingers to the floor. There was nothing for him to feel bad about. The boy had disrespected him, so he had to make him pay. If he had let this slave get away with bad mouthing him, then all the other slaves would have done it too.

If that was so, then why did Kuronue look at him that way? Like he had been the one to do something bad. Getting to his feet, the man chewed on his lower lip, still staring down at Zight. Sooner or later, one of the slaves would come and take him to the doctor. They always did that when they thought he was gone to his room.

\" Kuronue, it\'s not my fault. Bad slaves have to be punished\" Korin muttered under his breath. He wanted to go to his bedroom, to get washed up and get these bloody clothes off of him. He was starting to feel bad inside, but for the life of him, he could not tell why.

\" I know Master\" Kuronue replied with a sigh, which did nothing to help Korin\'s uneasiness. The man needed Kuronue\'s approval, needed for the man to say that he had done the right thing; only then would he leave the room.

Unfortunately for Korin, Kuronue would not give him that satisfaction. Taking Korin\'s arm, Kuronue led his master out of the room. Like a child, Korin was sulking behind him, staring down at the floor as he trudged slowly behind him.

\" That\'s what masters are supposed to do. They\'re supposed to punish bad slaves,” Korin mumbled.

\" Like your masters punished you?\" Kuronue said in reply, watching as his master froze in place. He did not flinch, or move, as the man suddenly pressed his hands against his mouth. The look of rage from earlier had returned to Korin\'s eyes, also mixed with a tinge of fear, and something else.

\" I wasn\'t bad! I was good! They were mean to me. They hurt me on purpose! Always hurting me and making me do bad things,” he said, his words a mumbled rush.

Kaizer. Michas. Even now the names still haunted him, the memories flooding his mind until he was left screaming. One was dead. The other was alive. Both still lived on and haunted his every waking moment.

Wrapping his arms around Kuronue\'s neck, he buried his face against the man\'s chest. His frail body shaking as he leaned wearily against him. The person before him now seemed like nothing more than a shell of the earlier, crazed man who had attacked the slave in the room.

\" Please, tell me I was not bad. I was good. They were the bad ones,” Korin whispered, digging his sharp nails into the back of Kuronue\'s neck. The urge to strangle the man until he lie cold and dead on the floor raged inside of him. The feeling of blood beneath his fingertips only spurned that desire on.

Unmoving, Kuronue stared at the wall before him. The game had been sprung on him before he had even realized it. If he gave in to Korin, he knew the man would simply forget what he had done. If he did not give into the man, the rage would be back and more would suffer. There was no guilt or feelings of compassions left in his master. There was only the memories and insanity.

Sighing softly, he ran his fingers through Korin\'s hair, feeling the man relax against him. \" You were not bad. You were very good, Master\" he spoke gently, ignoring the sickening feeling that rose in the pit of his stomach.

A smile graced his master\'s lips as the man pulled back, looking like a child who had just gotten exactly what they wanted. Leaning up, the man kissed him, and Kuronue could taste the boy\'s blood on his master\'s lips. The urge to vomit continued to rise in him.

\" Tell me you love me\" Korin demanded, pulling the man closer by the collar of his shirt. Kuronue was taller than him, much taller; sometimes it hurt to have to look at him.

Getting to his knees Kuronue kissed the man’s bloody hand; gingerly licking at what blood had not began to dry. If only he could lie to himself this easy. He nuzzled the man\'s hand, pressing Korin\'s palm against his cheek.

\" I love you\"

It was only then that the rage inside of Korin died, the smile on his face no longer fake. He allowed Kuronue to take him to his bedroom, letting the man strip him of his kimono. Stepping into the freshly drawn bath, he sat with his knees pressed against his chest, chin resting on his knees.

Alone in the large bathroom, he stared forlornly at the bathwater. Kuronue would not stay with him, leaving to go attend to that slave. Thinking about the boy made him feel sick to his stomach, clasping his hand against his mouth as his stomach heaved. When he moved his hand away, there was blood staining it. His own blood.

Washing the blood away in the water, he wrapped his arms around his knees, pressing his forehead against his knees. There was no one to see his tears, and most would not have been able to believe that he could actually cry.

\" Sorry. Sorry\" he whispered in a child-like voice, tears streaming down his face into the bathwater. \" I\'m sorry.\"

A/N: There you have it. The first chapter of the sequel, hope you like it.