Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Angel in Flames ❯ Youji in Hell ( Chapter 4 )

Angel in Flames 3/?

By Nix Winter

Disclaimer: I don't own Youji or Omi, Weiss Kreuz. I do own the story. I do love feedback. Check out my original at onepinkrose.com

Warning! This is was a very intense scene! YOUJI TORTURE! It's not nice.. very high angst. I'll spoil it for you now though, I don't write death fics, except for that one original. Anyway! This is a rough chapter! Read at your own risk. It is very much Rated R, as one can't actually see anything and there's no sex and all..

Angel in Flames

"It is people like you who make the world a dangerous place." She said it with a vicious disgust edging the words.

Youji reached for his face, for his glasses, even though he knew they were gone, wide solid straps held his arms though. It took him a minute more to realize his arms were out to the sides, like a crucifix. Oh, man! "Oh fuck me," he moaned.

Something stabbed into his side, sharp and firy. For a moment it held his whole attention, as if his whole being were right there at his side, every nerve in existance was focus there as some hard and unforgiving moved around inside him without the least hesitation for the agony it left in it's trail. The straps cut into his arms as he tightened, into ankles though he didn't have the mind power to notice. His scream vented some of the pain, poured it out his soul for as long as he had air in his lungs.

A hand hit his cheek, hard enough to add stars to the general misery and he stopped screaming only because of lack of air. "Shut up, will you?" A man said, in Japanese, with a thick Russian accent. "Marika is trying to get my bullet out of your kidney and your screaming is distracting her."

"It's actually only nicked the kidney. Try to relax. I hadn't got anymore pain killer to give you, but I am nearly finished. It's useful that you're awake, Vladimir." The next movement of whatever tool she used inspired another full throated scream from Youji.

When he lay there panting, fingers twitching, wishing he could see how big a whole she'd made in him, he tried to sort out some clear thought, some organized mental resistance, but couldn't get farther than thinking about how big the hole was, how long it would take him to die.

"What is your name?" She barely brushed the end of something long and hard against some raw part of his flesh, just barely enough to make him groan. "Real name."

"Asshole," he groaned. It's a damn shame to tell the truth and still get kicked. When he finished screaming this time, his throat hurt, raw, burning, like he'd thrown up.

"Name?"

"Youji."

"Is that a first name or a last name?"

"Kudou Youji."

"Okay, Mr. Youji. We're making progress. Who is Omi?"

"Don't know," he said. Blood ran from his wrists as he slowly came back to his senses after that. There was a nice place in between, nice black and floating.

"Aya?"

"Some chick I screwed once," he lied. Aya was poetry in motion, the high arch of red and violet, a living sword with a bleeding heart, he thought, losing his thoughts in memories of the swordsman, of lethal beauty. Aya. Aya the untouchable.

"Are you in love with him? This flower of a sword?" She asked as she drew a sharp line up his belly, slicing skin, but it was a welcome distraction from the ball of agony at his side. "I've never gotten such poetry out of a man I was torturing before. Want me to carve his name in your skin?"

Yeah, he thought, anything to keep away from the pain at his side. What had he done to deserve this?

Lines, sharp fiery lines traced over his skin, but he had no comprehension of what they meant, if anything. The room felt so cold. Distantly, he heard her say to turn him over. God he was glad too. He really wanted them to leave the front of him alone.

Her voice purred at his ear. "Who sent you to the club?"

"Omi," Youji whispered, hating the taste of blood in his mouth.

She sponged his mouth with a little sponge on a stick, wiping away copper and leaving a lemon glycerin flavor. Gentle fingers pulled sweaty, dirty hair out of his face, pressed a cool cloth to his forehead, washed his face. Breathing became a little easier and he didn't try to fight as they strapped his arms down again, legs. Odd the straps were right on his skin. Fuck. Those were his favorite pants. "Who is Omi?" She asked.

"Don't know," he said, drifting in the relative comfort.

"Are you in love with Omi?"

"Yeah."

"You don't want this to happen to Omi, do you?" She asked, illustrating with a long line of fire down his back, outraging nerves on both sides of the cut. "You have to tell us where he is, so we can protect him. Do you know what flay means?"

Yeah, Youji knew what flay meant. He started talking about his mother, about how she'd loved him and supported him, about how she'd known he was gay and how she'd died in a plane crash. How'd spent the rest of his life trying to make up for something somehow. He talked about the house he wanted to have, with books and a dojo, with a white cat. He wanted a white cat that would come when called and he could hold and pet it and he wanted to make Omi smile. It was so easy now, to talk about all the things he wanted, all the secrets he'd been holding in.

Disgusted, Mindy shoved herself away from the table that he was strapped to. The blond was beyond repair, mostly. "I need more practice," she said with a sigh.

The muscular Russian man who'd been watching made a dismissive sound like an English tsk. "I knew you'd lost it when he stopped screaming. You want me to dump him now?"

She sighed, fingered a flap of skin on his back. "He was so pretty. The pretty ones are always gay. And no, don't dump him. I have a use for him still. Get some good tape, put him up against the missile. And put some pants on him. We'd better do this fast. I'll set up the camera."

"Okie Dokie," the guy said. Youji was still rambling about how he'd like to go swimming with his friends, at night, play some music too loud. He'd like to see Aya smile, like to bring along someone named Aya-chan because then Aya would really smile. None of it made any sense really, all about cats and the kinds of things just an ordinary man would want. Power tools and refinishing a convertible, dancing and maybe having someone one touch him.

Elsewhere....

The rest of Weiss spent the night looking for Youji, looking for the girl he'd found. Dawn comes early in St. Petersburg, to make up for the lack of heat the sun gives, perhaps.

Red eyed, Omi leaned back from the table holding his laptop. "I found her," he said, pressing a finger to the third eye he didn't have.

Ken came over from the bed to take a look. "Hell and damn," he said, fingers flexing in and out of a fist before he turned and put a hole in the wall.

News broke fast in Russia these days. Main story had a lovely photo, woman's head, laying on a bloody white shirt. The card behind it gave a TV channel and a time. Omi grabbed the remote and changed the channel. In big red letters, on a black back ground, a count down was nearing 25. "Twenty five more minutes until we get their new demands."

When fifteen minutes remained, a special carrier showed up at their door. He delivered a package that smelled like blood, but was in a nice white box. It was Omi that opened it, face and fingers pale.

Inside, they found a note card, and a plastic wrapped strip of skin, just a couple cm wide, but nearly a meter long. Omi gagged. Ken laid an arm around his shoulder, and pulled him into a furious embrace.

Aya opened the card. "He is alive. They simply wanted us to be aware of their broadcast. The note says that if we continue to pursue them, they will return Youji to us, pureed, with a video of his last hours."

"I'm gonna kill them," Ken snarled, holding a crying Omi to him. "I am going to kill them."

"It's my fault! I sent him alone!"

Aya gave them both a stern look, then put the box, with Youji's skin into the small cooler under the TV.

The broadcast started with a panoramic vision of St. Petersburg, then London, Washington, San Francisco, Cairo, then to a woman, girl really, short green hair sitting on a stool in front of a dark blue curtain. Her feet were hooked under the rung of the stool, hands holding on to the edge. "Good morning world!" She said, cheerful and brightly smiling. "You want to know where we are? I will give you the address, but," she paused, holding up a hand, not quite washed clean of blood. "First, I have to tell you, if anyone comes anywhere near us, we will set off the missile! And this is no some measly little nuclear missile. It and it's ten sibs are very special! Now do you want to know what I'll do to you if you don't give me what I want, or what I want? Which do you want to know first?"

A groan came from behind her and she smiled, bounced almost on the stool. "I had a playmate last night! He wasn't very cooperative!" She tilted her head and sighed. "I hope you got your package! You should have heard him! When didn't think he could cry anymore and I would have thought giving up a little skin for his friends would have been a pleasure! Aya, I sure hope I get to see you use that sword of yours sometime. He sure seems impressed with you!"

Aya closed his eyes. Ken started rocking Omi slowly, as if taking care of Omi was giving him a vent for the rage within himself.

"Okay. I guess I'd better tell you what I want first, uh?" She laced her fingers behind her head, and a bank account number flashed up on the screen. "This show is being broadcast around the world. I want you to know I'm a very practical person. I LIKE the world as it is, unlike my Aunt and Mom. I don't want to mess with your world, with how you want to treat each other. I'm going right past the stupid governments of the world. That's old world. I want everyone watching to write down my bank account number. Get it right now, because I'm not going to like it if you send my money to the wrong person."

Then she got off her stool, moved to the side of the curtain and lifted the curtain pull. "Now, I don't want you to think I'm a nice person, cuz I'm not. I'm probably going to invite one of you over every month or so. I like to play." She pulled the curtain open a little, just enough to reveal a bruised and carved masculine arm tapped to the nose of a medium sized missile.

Those fingers spasmed and all the rest of Weiss moved a little closer to the screen. "This man, the one tapped to the missile that can take out this city, and another nine like it, he's a good man. He has a really good heart. I get the most interesting things out of people when I start cutting them up, playing with their heads. Him? All I can get out of him is how much he loves some chick named Aya and a guy named Omi. He wants a cat, I want you to know. His mother loved him a lot too, at least he thought so. And Grandma Youji, or Kudou, I'm not sure which is his first name, anyway, you should have been nice to him. Okay, he's bisexual, but he really does care and you made him ashamed of himself, hurt him worse than I did. So I hope you're watching."

She pulled the curtain back more, revealing a man, bruised and bloodied, eyes swollen shut, lips mangled, chest carved with both Aya and Omi's names. Aya sat down in a chair, dropped the letter she'd send them. When Youji's chest rose, taking in a shallow breath, only then did Aya breath, Omi gasp.

"Pretty intense, uh? Maybe if you're good, and the money starts flowing in, I'll show you his back, before I kill him. That's right folks! It's the ultimate in reality TV! Only you can save the world. I want donations, people! Lots and lots of them, to flow right into my account. Start now! Here's a 900 number for you! Five dollars, a hundred Euros, we take it all. The faster the money comes in, the longer I'll let this man live. If I get a 100,000 in the next minute and a half, I'll let him talk to you. Do you want to hear the dying words of this good man? Come on, give!"

Aya turned to find Omi picking up the phone. "Put that down!"

"But Aya, it might keep Youji alive."

"She's already killed Youji. We will not give her money."

Ken jerked the phone cord out of the wall, and Omi dropped to his knees.

The total of donations was fast approaching a quarter of a million already. The girl smiled, put her finger on a bit of loose Youji skin and gave enough of a tug to make him groan and lift his head. "Now, this man, he may have a good heart, but he killed my mother. Which wasn't very nice. Now, this is the start of a new world wide democracy! Here are two numbers. Only $5.95 a call, and you pick. Do you want to see him beheaded, or see him die by the virus that's in the missile. Personally, i want to kill him with the virus, that way you all get a little pre-taste of what happens to those who oppose our democracy! Call now!"

Two more numbers flashed up on the screens, with the vote count for each one. In under five minutes over 100,000 people had chosen a death for Kudou Youji. The girl seemed quite satisfied. "Now, before I finish off this defender of the old world, let me show you my Aunt's boyfriend. He was not a nice man and he made me very angry last night!"

She cued the video and the scene from the night before, when Youji had gotten shot, the big blond man kicking him, his boot on his face. Aya clenched his fists. Then the video cut to the same man, locked in a white room. A mist started to fill the room, and the man covered his face, tried to hide. Very quickly, the mist started to work and a voice over of the girl promising that this footage was very unedited, completely true muffled the man's screaming.

She gave them some technical information that she, nor most of her audience understood very likely, about velociraptors and gene splicing, about how it would be unique for each person. Around the world people watched a blond Russian man transform from a body builder into what was easily recognizable as a demon. It took about ten minutes for bone to shift, wings to grow, eyes to turn blood red, jaws to shift, elongate. The girl's voice over continued, as two new video feeds were thrown up on the screen. One was for a girl, the other a boy, both about sixteen, in pajamas, looking lost and frightened. For only $3.95, the world could vote, which one got fed to her new demon first. But hurry and remember to vote for the one you want SAVED!

Aya buried his hands in his hair. Omi hid his face against Ken's chest. The door to the girl's cell opened. She never even screamed, and the camera cut back to Mindy, leaning against the missile Youji was taped too. "Now wasn't that informative! Better than any class I ever took. Now, see this missile here? It's got about a million doses of that virus in it. That surely wouldn't infect the whole population, but the ones that do get infected will be very happy to eat the ones that aren't? Worse than any scary movie you ever saw, too, uh? Now, if I can just get donations equal to a billion dollars in my main account within the next hour, I'll wait to launch the missiles, until the next time we need to discuss a vote. One little billion, you all ought to be able to do that, right? Keep the demons out of your neighborhood. I am watching where the donations come from too! So if your city is slacking, I'm gonna have to encourage you!

She grabbed a hold of Youji's bloody hair without warning and placed a sticky face mask over his mouth and nose. He sucked air, drew the plastic into his mouth, up into his nose, struggled against the tape. She walked away, just leaving the camera running, the total of the donations climbing.

Aya stood, grabbed his sword, drew it, pushed it back, looked over at a hysterical Omi, a shocked Ken. Youji jerked, his whole body arching against the missile, face blue, and the whole world saw Asuka's ghost lean up against him, her arms out against his, her lips to his. His chest rose. Her fingers tore at the tape, and he fell, hands and knees, the camera following his movements, showing his ruined back. Two deformations, big dark bruises swelled over both shoulder blades, and then, Youji's wings broke through the skin.

Huge black raven wing, sleek with the blood of birth. It was unique to each person, and Youji was a black angel, rising with a graceful strength, wings living, shivering black sculptures to either side of him. When he looked into the camera, his face was unbruised, perfect, but the eyes were a darker green, the dirty blond hair just a little darker, laying around eye cheekbones and a lost expression. The camera feed shut off, leaving only the running total of donations, and the 900 number.

Aya slipped his shoulder holster on, pulled his kantana comfortably against his back.

"Aya," Omi whimpered, "Where are you going?"

"He's alive." That was all he said, as he went out the door. Youji was alive. He was.