Trinity Blood

Title: Blood Games

Chapters:

Denkiteki Kaori Oni

Disclaimer: I do not own TB

Pairing: Cain x Isaak

Rating M: Cruelty / Torture, Language, Blood, Violence and Gore, Disturbing scenes, Possible Rape

A/N: No flames please! I really do love these characters, Isaak especially so do not mistake this fic for bashing or anything of the sort. It was quite painful and difficult to write. I assure you.

-sniff- I will never be the same . . .

~Story Start ~ ::Avert Not Thine Eyes::

1

"Take your hands off of me you filthy bastards!"

The double doors of the Contra Mundi's room flew open violently. The sounds of struggling and shuffling feet came next. A comical scene, yet horrifying at the same time - two Methuselan guards stepped in and held in there hands chains attached to cold, metal shackles that clung tightly to pale flesh belonging to the one and only Isaak Fernand von Kämpfer, who was kicking at invisible dust as he was carelessly dragged about the tile floor. However, the scene was unsightly.

Von Kämpfer had blood trickling from his forehead and temple, of which leaked a trail down his face, gliding smoothly over the eye and dripping off the chin. His fangs were bared in a menacing scowl aimed at whoever dared to look him in the face or stare into his eyes. He was practically on the floor, dust and dirt sullying his black Orden uniform, and both his arms hovered above his head limply, the hold the guards have on him being the only thing to support his crooked posture.

The atmosphere of the room grew ominous, temperatures dropping to a negative, below zero degrees C - the temperature of fear, regret, and the absence of mercy. The three of them felt it. After all, it was hard to miss, the electric jolt that sends a shock to your brain incomparably worse than brain freeze. It was the message of crucial danger, instinct telling you to flee, to escape the jaws of death. Neither dared to move.

Footsteps echoed in the room, the footsteps themselves coming from somewhere in the back of the room where the lights didn't reach, couldn't reach. There it was pitch black.

The darkness cut the room in half, leaving one side perceptible to the senses and the other elevating them in alarm. Something hid within and whatever it was it held tremendous power. A dark and evil power.

Kämpfer narrowed his slanted eyes, squinting them to see, his keen Methuselan vision obscured by the damages done to his head. Because of this it lowered his perception to that of a Terran's. Instead of going beyond the darkness, seeing into it, it stopped at the border where the light refused to go any further. He growled lightly in frustration, something he didn't bother to hide. It was evident enough already.

However, when he noticed the two guards shaking out of the corner of his eye he decided that he was quite grateful that his vision was obscured, especially after what comes next.

"Isaak, don't be so angry," said an all too familiar voice. Isaak's blood ran cold, or rather colder if possible.

Slowly, one brown shoe appeared from the shadows, then the other. Then, the entire figure exited the darkness and stepped into the light. Kämpfer ceased the squinting of his eyes and did the opposite, widening them in utter terror.

Blond hair swayed back and forth, just barely touching the shoulder blades. On the shoulder blades sat humongous golden plates of armor. One would think that you'd sink to the ground or tip over due to the weight, but to this man balance was as easy to sustain as breathing. Then there was that unusual naiveté that swirled in the midst of those sapphire eyes, something that usually threw people off. The people that already knew him knew better than that. Knew that it was merely the calm before the storm.

"L-Lord Cain . . ." Isaak whispered with a stutter. He glanced nervously at the two guards holding him, seeing the conspicuous fear in their eyes. Out of his own anxiety he bowed his head so that his long black tresses curtained his face and tightly closed his eyes, praying.

Cain's lips curved upward in a sly smile as he tilted his head at his second in command's behavior. He looked a the two guards and they began to tremble visibly. With a nod of his head they released the chains they held in their white gloved hands and ran out of the room with whimpers of fear.

Isaak's eyes popped open the moment the chains had hit the floor. He shook now. Beads of sweat formed on his face, mixing with his blood and dripping down his cheeks and rolling off his chin. For the moment he wished that the guards hadn't left, that they had stayed so that he would be leaving out again, be it to a dungeon or kicked out of the Rosenkreuz Orden. He didn't care which. Just . . .anything but this.

"Come now Isaak. Why so afraid, hm?" Cain's voice was so taunting, the sweetness so feigned. Isaak knew better.

The tank magician stayed silent. His trembling did not cease. He could feel every fiber of his being, of his character, crumbling, falling apart. This wasn't like him. He was supposed to be the great Panzer Magier, intelligent, creative, powerful, feared. Now that someone higher up on the charts stood before him, towering over him as if he were but an insect he felt his prestige being crushed to useless sparks. And as he finally lifted his head to daringly stare into Contra Mundi's eyes he could see the ridiculing amusement dancing in them.

The darkness behind Cain ridiculed him even, beckoning him to come into its welcoming arms and hide. The locked doors behind him mocked him as well. Now he could hear their 'voices'. They were toying with him.

"Come and play Isaak! Open my doors! You are competent enough to do that aren't you?" The doors taunted.

Here! Hide over here!" The darkness teased.

"Cover your face you useless fool!"

"How dare you bare your presence to the great Lord Contra Mundi!"

"Perish!"

"Vanish!"

"Your life is already fleeting from being here!"

A whimper escaped his lips. He bowed his head and closed his eyes again. Should he really assume that someone hears him when he prays? Should he jump to the conclusion that maybe he'll be let off with a slap on the wrist and he'll be free to go? Should he really believe that he'll leave this room alive? That anyone will see him walk about again? That he'll see the light of day tomorrow? Should he really?

"Isaak, you did not answer my question and I am still waiting." All traces of "sweetness" was gone. He was impatient now. Strike one.

One thing Isaak was sure he could be certain of is that Cain is no Abel. He has no mercy and already he was beginning to mess up. He struck the first nerve and he mentally berated himself that he shouldn't do it again. However, it is a lot harder than it sounds.

Cain is like a king. Either you give him what he wants or he cuts off your head. If you're a personal favorite he makes sure you die nice and slow. That was his nature – sadistic, cruel, just plain heartless. However, his nature isn't entirely that simple or predictable. On the contrary, it is much more complex than that – the cruelty of a king, the mind of a professional and yet of a novice, but his heart is as cold as the iceberg that sunk the titanic and as black as the brimstone of Satan's lair. Then the next moment he contradicted everything he stood for, pure hypocrisy.

He was indeed an angel of darkness.

Isaak took a deep breath before answering. "I-I am afraid of you Mein Herr . . .because I know that my life is in your hands," he answered honestly. He kept his gaze on the black tile floor.

"Is that so?" That artful innocence returned to his voice. Cain walked around him. "Hrm, true." He stopped behind Isaak and whispered in his ear. "Which brings to light the reason for your being here."

Isaak froze.

"The last assignment I gave you was to lead an attack on the city of Londinium in Albion. It seems that you have failed that mission entirely and not only that," his voice lowered, "you cost me the Orden airship." Strike two.

Kämpfer's breath hitched in his throat. Failing that mission was the worst mistake he could have ever made in the 900 years of his life. He should have died in the explosion, but somehow he survived. Now that he thought about it, dying in the blast would have been a far less worse punishment than what Contra Mundi has in store for him, whatever that may be.

"Forgive me my lord. I was certain I had everything under control," Kämpfer replied anxiously.

"You were certain you had everything under control," Cain mimicked mockingly. "Tell me Isaak, how did you receive that head injury?" He asked suddenly curious.

What? He's interested in my wounds? Isaak thought skeptically. It was unusual that the Contra Mundi would be concerned about his servants' injuries, much less interested. The Panzer Magier was baffled, but he had no choice but to answer. "I was seen leaving the damaged ship. One of the Orden's guards tracked me down and beat me with a baton . . . before arresting me and dragging me here," he answered apprehensively.

"Ah, I see." Cain's tone took a change for the worst. "So you tried to flee," he stated matter-of-factly. Strike three.

"No! I would never!" Isaak panicked, his voice laced with plead.

"And now you're lying." Amusement danced in the dark lord's eyes as he sung out his accusation. "So pathetic." A shrewd smirk played on his features."I hope that you are aware that your failure will surely cost you more than you'll miss."

"Please! Mein Herr!" Kämpfer pleaded again. Consternation crawled into the pit of his stomach. He felt like vomiting.

"Oh please, shut up von Kämpfer you worthless little insect. Sorry is all I ever hear from you. I grow weary of your pointless, meaningless apologies. I do not forgive you and I do not plan to. I cannot tolerate you anymore. As a matter of fact," Cain crossed the distance and grabbed the Methuselah by the collar, "I cannot stand you," he hissed venomously.

The Methuselah's eyes widened considerably. At least he didn't have to be kept in suspense over whether or not he'll die because without a doubt the answer was definitely clear.

A bead of sweat made its way down his face, taking a thin line of blood with it. Isaak's heart pounded fiercely in his chest as his dark brown eyes reflected his master raising his hand before it connected with his cheek and sent him flying across the room and into the double doors, his back slamming into the fine wood and releasing a terrible cracking sound. He yelped and winced in pain. His hands clenched at his sides.

The Crusnik made his way back into the depths of the darkness. A light came on in the pitch blackness from a fieldstone fireplace facing a mahogany cushion chair with brass casters.

"I see you enjoy playing games Isaak, mostly with your own pathetic little life." He sat in the chair and propped his feet up on a red velvet footstool and sighed. A ghost of a smile reached his lips as he flipped a blond strand of hair out of his face and turned to look at the injured vampire. "Do you like games Isaak? Hm, I love games." He turned back to the fireplace and closed his eyes as the sound of violins filled the room.

The Methuselah's mind screamed at him to move, to get up and out of harm's way, but he couldn't. He briefly wondered if sitting deathly still for the sake of his fractured spine was worth the more extreme beatings to come. But of course that was a very unintelligible thought considering his predicament.

Perhaps Cain was right. Perhaps he didn't take life as seriously as he should and right now it was short-lived despite his being a Methuselah and having lived over 900 years up until now. He cursed himself.

"You should know that whenever I ask a question I expect an answer, magician," Cain said darkly. He glared at the Panzer Magier and his claws came out scratching the arms of the chair.

"W-Well, I like certain games," he replied cautiously from his position by the doors.

He certainly didn't want to risk another fractured limb. He had to choose his words carefully from now on. His fingers twitched. Never in his life has he ever been so stressed out like he was now. He tried to move and found it painful. A cigarillo sounded good right about now.

"Certain games huh? Hm . . .I like ones that include violence, blood, and gore . . .cat and mouse," Cain mused as if lost to reality. Isaak shuddered as he realized that the Crusnik was reveling in a slaughterhouse fantasy.

As silently as he could he cast a spell on himself to heal himself. He was too afraid to let the spell go on for too long for fear of Cain seeing the vibrating waves of the light blue glow surrounding him. He began to stand.

The Crusnik still faced the fireplace. The orange glow blanketed his form making him look like a celestial being out of Greek Mythology legends. Isaak pondered whether or not he should slowly turn the knob or just bolt out the door. The latter of the two was very tempting. Besides, wouldn't Cain hear the knob turning no matter how quietly he tried to turn it?

He chose.

Cain growled low in his throat as the Methuselah bolted out the door. His footsteps echoed out in the hall. Ceasing his growling, Cain replaced it with a purr instead. Another game? So be it. In a flash the Crusnik had disappeared from his spot in the chair. The only clue that he had left was the door slamming shut from the force of a terrible wind.

The violins' sweet song turned into a fast, haunting symphony, a tune of death – Armageddon. It seemingly echoed through the Rosenkreuz Orden castle ringing in von Kämpfer's sensitive ears.

He sprinted down the long hall, the red carpet softening his footsteps, but they could still be heard. Everything was beginning to look blurry, consequential of that blasted head wound. He shook his head but it was futile. Dizziness engulfed him and he began to stumble. If the sounds of his clumsiness and the scent of his blood wasn't enough to attract the Crusnik then he didn't know what would.

He could only hope for survival.

Then a thought hit him. The second floor! It has a chute that leads to the outside. He ran out into a vast room filled with antiques and paintings. Everywhere he looked there were decorations and luxuries – from large golden framed paintings to grand pianos, and expensive uniquely made vases. Up ahead he noticed the gate of a residential elevator.

No, taking the elevator would take up too much time. I'll be dead before I can get the gate open. He had to think quickly. He darted to the left and went through a door that leads through a small hallway to a set of backstairs. He ran down them as fast as he could.

Part way down the stairs, on the third floor, he spotted another door leading back into a larger hallway. He ran quickly but quietly towards the other side of the castle. There! He grabbed a large painting of a man playing a trumpet off the wall and carefully set it down on the floor. Behind it was a hidden exit chute. It landed him in the west garden and running as fast as he could he headed for the main gate.

Once he got past that gate he would be home free. He knew a list of places he could go, but first he needed a ride. However, that was the least of his worries. The Methuselah just hoped that Cain had lost track of him or else he would be in even more trouble than he was already in, if that was possible.

Cain stared out of the stain-glass window on the third floor of the Rosenkreuz Orden castle building. He watched with cold, crimson, narrowed eyes as Isaak made it out of the castle grounds. Slowly a cruel smirk made its way onto his lips. So you like blood games do you? He clenched his clawed hand into a fist at his side, squeezing so hard that blood dripped from his tightly closed palm.

So be it then . . .He whispered dangerously.

A/N: So how did you like it? I don't know whether or not I should continue this. I can't help but feel as if it wasn't all that good. I tried rewriting it several times. Oh well. Tell me how I did, ne? So review please!