Saint Seiya Fan Fiction ❯ Inner Torture (Evil-Saga x Saga x Kanon) ❯ Chapter 1 – [Inner fire] - The beginning of the end – Saga ( Chapter 2 )

 

I hope the title in Greek is right…I used altavista translation….*lol*

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Chapter 1 - [Inner fire] - The beginning of the end - Saga

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His knees were shaking.

 

Slowly, the heat would take over his whole body, he knew it.

 

It wasn't the first time.

 

 

 

The fever would spread through his limbs, invade his chest, make him feel dizzy and bring tears to his eyes, along with a strange tingling in his flesh and that unbearable ringing to his ears…

It had been coming more and more often lately, and each time, it would take longer to go away.

 

He leaned against a wall, seeking the freshness against his back, in hopes that the cool stone would soothe him or make the river of fire that ran through his body disappear. But it was to no avail.

 

The bathhouse of the Gemini temple was cold early in the mornings. Not surprising considering everything here was built and rebuilt almost the same way it was 3.000 years ago. Yet the heat wouldn't leave him.

Face flushed, he leaned in further, in search of a closer contact with the wall, and let out a strangled moan when a shudder ran through his slender body and he felt his nipples go erect.

 

That was one of the things he hated most with the sensation : that feeling that he didn't control his body anymore.

If it was only the fever itself, he wouldn't mind. He could stand it, he was strong. He was one of the strongest, one of the twelve Gold Saints. Maybe even the strongest of all twelve.

 

But not being able to control his own body scared him.

He didn't know how to fight against it... An enemy that he couldn't see or attack.

 

It wasn't that bad yet, he could still control himself, but he felt that it would only worsen. After all, at the start the sensation was merely like a light fever, heat in his body, cold sweat and a slight numbness, accompanied by ringing in his ears.

 

But then, it started getting stronger every day, slowly at first, then faster and faster lately.

And that was when the voice had made its first appearance.

 

 

There it was again. He was shivering, sweat trickling on his skin now gone hyper sensitive, and that numbness spreading, as if his body wasn't his, but the sensations invaded him nevertheless.

The ringing in his ears made itself stronger and louder, until he could clearly distinguish a different sound in it...”the voice”!

It was more like a whisper than a voice though. An evil, twisted whisper, speaking in a hushed, unintelligible tone. A never stopping flow of words that he couldn't make out, as if they were in some dark, ancient tongue that he wasn't familiar with.

A tear ran down his face and he licked it when it reached his lips, trying not to moan, his uneven breathing forming little clouds of steam in the cold morning's air.

 

Sometimes he would manage to interrupt the spell, but it had been taking him more and more effort as the voice got stronger. There were days were he would spend a full hour or more, struggling with it, pushing his will to its ultimate limits to try to repel the invasion, to prevent the heat from taking over his whole body.

Exhausted, he would then collapse to the ground, his body shaking in shivers and soaked in sweat, his breathing ragged, but with the sweet sensation of victory, and that his body was his after all. But these meager victories were tiresome and time consuming, and they would cost him so much energy that he would spend the rest of the day resting.

 

The voice begun its chanting, and Saga slid along the wall until he dropped sitting on the ground and hugged his knees. Yesterday already, he had fought off the voice twice, and won, but it was stronger today.

He whimpered as he felt the heat settle on his groin, bringing a wave of pleasure and nausea combined.

Tired of fighting, he placed a barrier with his cosmo on the door and decided to go for the easiest way to get rid of the sensation.

He slid off the simple garment he was wearing, and spreading slightly his legs, he reached for his shaft, now engorged with blood and painfully in need.

A shudder ran through his body and a hushed whimper escaped his lips when his fingers finally wrapped around himself. As the pleasure invaded him, he felt dizzy and the voice grew in volume, obviously fascinated by what he was doing.

The young Gemini saint bent over forward, on his knees, and took support on the ground with his left hand, while his right one stroked himself, setting a quick pace that made him spiral into higher and higher spheres of rapturous pleasure, forcing a stream of moans and muffled cries out of the young saint's mouth.

The voice always had that effect : making his body hyper sensitive, so that the pleasure was multiplied tenfold. He was pretty sure it could feel it too. Other than to humiliate him, why would it do this to his skin, if it wasn't the case?

And besides, he could sense it in its depraved chanting, sounding more and more gleeful despite the fact he couldn't understand the words it uttered.

 

And because Saga knew he was giving in, the shame and the guilt were also increased tenfold for him.

This wasn't a natural need, this wasn't his body. It was caused by the voice.

So he felt soiled every time he touched himself.

 

He continued the rhythmic movement, the heat searing through his body no longer as bad, but the voice still in his ears.

He could almost feel it like a presence, hovering over his naked body, lecherously drinking in the images and the sounds.

He was sure it enjoyed seeing him like this, on his four, legs partially spread, and ready for the taking. And he knew that choosing this position would make it end faster, for the voice was the one controlling the sensations of his body, and thus, his release was conditioned by its level of excitement.

But it made him feel even more filthy, and tears ran down his face as he felt himself nearing the orgasm.

 

Suddenly, what felt like the very tip of a wet finger - or was it just a drop of sweat...? - brushed down his backside, sliding over the puckered flesh of his entrance and making him cry out in surprise, fear and…anticipation?

The onslaught of sensations almost made him tumble over, and thick whitish nectar spilled all over his hand...

 

To have reached the climax because of that impression!!

Saga closed his eyes and clenched his teeth, utterly disgusted of himself, seriously wishing that he could be struck by lightening and die on the spot.

 

The voice was making itself less loud, showing it's contentment with its </I>"toy"</I> before leaving. At least for a few hours, or maybe days if he was lucky enough.

The ringing in Saga's ears and the scorching heat had left him too, but not the nausea and the shame.

Soiled...filthy...and weak...

 

Finally letting it go completely, the young gold saint curled into a ball in the ground and broke into uncontrolled sobs for the rest of the morning. When he finally stood up, the sun was already high in the sky. Not caring to warm up water for his bath, he washed his body with cold one, trying at first to clean himself with a wash rag, then, when it wasn't rough enough, with his nails.

Saga bathed in silence, tears still running down his face, like they would never stop. He rubbed his soapy hands all over his skin, as hard and harshly as he could, making his skin - normally as white as alabaster- turn bright pink streaked with red marks from his nails.

Yet, it wasn't enough to clean him, to make the filth go away.

There was no way for him to clean his body when he felt that the filth was coming from the inside.

He could only hope that being rough enough would bring a pain that would wash away his guilt, or at least some of it.

But there wasn't enough pain.

He must find another way to punish himself.

Throwing one last bucket of water over his head, he left the place and strode across his temple, naked and dripping wet, and went into his room.

He only hoped that Kanon wouldn't be around.

His younger brother and him had been getting more and more distant since he was officially dubbed Gemini saint. In normal times, he regretted that loss, but ever since the voice appeared, he was secretly grateful that his brother would spend more and more time away, for this way, he didn't have as much trouble to hide his condition from him.

 

Opening a big wooden chest in a corner of the room, he retrieved a smaller green one with brass decorations along the edges. He unlocked it and pulled from the inside a short golden dagger, so well polished that he could see his face in it like in a mirror.

The contact of the cold metal against the soft skin of his forearm made him shudder. But this time it wasn't disgust or fear, but yearning. He inhaled deep and held his breath, preparing himself for a pain that he wanted to savour. The blade bit into his wrist with an unique sound and slit his skin open like a pair of thin red lips grinning in a crazed smile.

The sound of ripping tissue of his own flesh was enticing to his ears, and made him wonder how could human flesh sound so very similar to fabric.

A drop hit the ground, then another. A little rivulet of blood had now formed on his arm and down his hand.

The cut wasn't deep enough or in the right spot to cause death, but the young man's eyes shone with a maddened light, and the urge to run the knife deeper into the wound and trace the bloody gash over and over was almost unbearable.

 

But for a saint of Athena, and furthermore for a gold saint, few were the crimes considered more abject. The life of a saint belonged to the goddess, and suicide, if the attempt was failed, was ironically punished with the worst kinds of death possible. If successful, a saint who took his own life would be forever remembered as the worst kind of coward and a traitor.

And for a gold saint, only treason against Athena and a few similar things were considered worse than suicide.

The saints were only allowed death in the battlefield, and even those who lost to weaker enemies were more likely going to be suspected of some level of treason, innocent or not.

 

That notion was ingrained into the young trainees' minds since their earliest childhood, and Saga was no exception to that rule.

Understanding what he was about to do, the young gold saint threw the knife away from himself and plopped down sitting on the bed, clutching his wounded wrist with his other hand, so that the pressure would eventually make the blood stop running.

His breath was agitated, and the feelings of guilt for having almost broken the interdict mixed in with the voluptuous pain of his wound... each heartbeat echoing against his fingertips would send a tiny jolt of pleasure through his body. A pleasure that felt pure and clean, this time.

It wasn't wrong after all, was it?

It wasn't like he was really going to kill himself. He knew how unforgivable such an act would be. All he wanted was the soothing bliss, that cleansing pain that would burn away at least a bit of the shame and the filth...so it wasn't bad...was it?

 

He must be careful so that nobody would find out. They wouldn't understand.

He washed the blood away in a small basin and wrapped a bandage around his wounded wrist, and another around his good one. It was in all points similar to the normal wrist-bands they would wear when training. Perfect.

 

He slid on a short training tunic and decided to go out.

After one last moment of hesitation, he picked up the dagger, wrapped it up and hid it in his clothes, just in case he would need it again later today...

 

When he set foot outside and begun his descent to the training grounds, he felt almost confident. He had found a new way to fight the voice, and he felt that this one might be more effective.

 

 

 

 

[End of Chapter One]

[To be continued.]

 

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