Zoisite stood there, trembling, his hands wrapped around his shaking body as he gazed determinedly down at the floor. He couldn't bear to look up, couldn't bear to take the chance that he would stare into his mentor's eyes, and so lost himself in the inky ground beneath him.

"Why are you doing this to me?" he asked quietly.

He'd had plenty of time to think in the long hours that he'd stood there. It had caused him to wonder if he deserved the treatment given him, if he had somehow committed some grave offense. There wasn't really any other explanation--no rational one, at any rate. Perhaps he was being punished somehow, or maybe tested...and if so... Zoisite closed his eyes, his thoughts overwhelming him.

If this was a test, he had obviously failed. If it was all a test to prove his loyalty, and Kunzite was merely playing out a scripted part--merely playing a role out on the battlefield, making Zoisite believe him a traitor--then by going with him, Zoisite had proved his unworthiness. He would have disgraced himself in the basest way possible, allowing his personal feelings to override his good sense, endangering both the kingdom and his people.

And yet...as frightening as Zoisite thought that to be, he almost hoped it was the case. The other alternative...the other alternative was that he wasn't wrong at all, that his instincts had served him well and that his first reaction had been a true one. If that were so...

Then Kunzite was truly a traitor.

But why? Why would Kunzite betray them, betray his cause and his people, betray his love? Had he believed that it was they who were unworthy of his loyalty, and so had discarded them for Beryl? Maybe Kunzite believed that it was they who were in the wrong, and had so left them to follow his conscience. Zoisite bit his lip, considering the possibility.

"You really are an idiot," Kunzite finally answered him.

Zoisite finally glanced up, staring with abnormal calm at his lover. "Why is that?" he asked softly, frowning only the slightest bit. Kunzite was acting so strangely...his own eyes narrowed. Was this man truly Kunzite, after all? The Kunzite he knew didn't act this way, his face cold and concealing, none of the usual benevolent gentleness gracing his features. In all their time together, his mentor had never struck him wantonly, as this man did so now. It was strange, it was wrong; the entire feel of this man was different. Indeed, the other man looked like his beloved Kunzite-sama...but looks were often deceiving.

Zoisite found himself forming a wickedly pointed crystal in his hands.

If this wasn't Kunzite, then where exactly was his beloved mentor?

He stopped short, letting the crystal dissolve into nothingness. The other man was right; he was acting the fool. It was a nice thought, an easy way out, to believe that this man was an impostor, but the harsh truth was that in all reality, this was Kunzite. No one else possessed such an aura of power around them; a mage of his mentor's caliber was found few and far between. And before...it was Kunzite's body; he would recognize it anywhere. He hadn't burrowed into the silky skin for years without learning anything, and undeniably, it was Kunzite's touch.

Zoisite bowed his head once more, staring forlornly into the floor.

"Why am I here?" he asked his mentor, for what seemed like the hundredth time. He raised tired, almost defeated eyes to stare at his lover. "Why are you doing this?"

It was the whoosh of air that warned him, that and the tense feeling he received whenever he was in danger, but he wasn't quick enough. A hard fist slammed him across the face, leaving him reeling with dizziness, and he tripped over a leg that had suddenly appeared into place below him. He fell to the ground, blood spattering randomly around him, and he coughed painfully.

"You will speak when spoken to," Kunzite's hard voice told him, but like the other times before, said nothing more.

That was the worst part of it, at least to Zoisite's admittedly tender sensibilities. Kunzite wouldn't even give him an answer to his queries, wouldn't explain why he was treating his lover in such a harsh manner. Sometimes, the tall man would only respond with a contemptuous glance; other times, his reaction was much more brutal. Zoisite could tell the other was only trying to unnerve him, to make him nervous and jumpy while waiting for a blow that might not come. To any other man, Zoisite's retribution would have been swift and vicious, but this was Kunzite; he couldn't bring himself to attack the other man. It was obvious that his mentor knew this; Kunzite hadn't taken the time to bind him physically or magically, and his attacks had only intensified as time had gone on.

"So, he still hasn't retaliated, Kunzite?" A new voice suddenly made it's appearance, the tone low and dripping with an almost sweet kind of malice. Zoisite turned to stare at the newcomer, a woman with long, fiery red hair, and his eyes narrowed. This was someone on whom he could exact revenge.

"My queen." Kunzite bowed, his eyes immediately dropping to the floor and away from his prisoner. Zoisite took that chance to pounce at the so-called queen.

The queen he now knew was Beryl.

The ice crystal flashed in his hands as he lunged forward, his lips pulled back into a feral growl. He placed all of his rage into the strike, all of his hatred and confusion at being Kunzite's prisoner, and wrenched his arms downward in a sweep he knew was fatal. It was his chance to get away, his chance to talk to Kunzite-sama without the other hitting him, a chance to kick some sense into his odd lover. He would kill her, and they would be free...somehow, he'd find what was wrong, and fix it...

The crystal slammed into soft flesh, the blade burying in the body up to its hilt. Blood spurted out of the open wound, the gash vast and grievous, Zoisite's eyes flashing with satisfied malice in time with the twitches of the white-clad back. It felt so good to get revenge...

Wait a minute. White-clad back?!

"No!" Zoisite howled, his eyes falling on the massive form before him, finally seeing just whom he had struck. He dropped the blade, his arms wrapping around Kunzite as the other collapsed. The extra weight pulled him to the floor, Kunzite falling back to pin his legs, and Zoisite stared with a horrified agony. He could feel his lover's blood soaking his trousers... "Why would you do that?" he gasped, tears pooling in his eyes as he stared down at his Kunzite-sama.

"As you can see," the blasted woman hadn't even moved, her voice was almost bored as she spoke, "Lord Kunzite is my creature now."

Zoisite ignored her, his fingers delicately probing for the wound in Kunzite's back. He still had his powers, obviously, and though he had never been any good at healing, he was sure he could at least stanch the flow of blood. He was fumbling desperately to remember a spell that would work when a large hand grasped his, stilling the action, and a hard blade was pressed to his throat. Zoisite froze.

"Shall I kill him, my Queen?" Kunzite's voice rasped out, a blade steady in his hand.

"Damn it, Kunzite-sama, what the hell are you doing?!" Zoisite yelled, and he jerked his hands away from his mentor's, trying to tend to his wounds. "I'm trying to help you!" He furiously began healing the wound, his head pounding with the resulting magical headache, but he smiled in grim satisfaction. It seemed to be working...

Beryl spoke to Zoisite, her eyes lidded and almost lazy. "If you kill him," she intoned softly, her voice sincere and promising, "I'll let you go."

Zoisite didn't even stop to think about it. "Fuck you, bitch," he snarled, and kept his hands determinedly on his work. If that idiot thought he'd abandon his Kunzite-sama, she could go to hell. He'd happily send her there with a one way ticket. His mentor's wound healed with a quick flash, and he slumped over his lover, exhausted from the unusual efforts. At least his love was safe...

Beryl tilted her head, her eyes pleased as she considered him. "I meant that, you know," she told him softly, and then she shrugged, snapping her fingers at Kunzite. "Bind him," she snapped, and Zoisite suddenly found himself being choked by magical bands, Kunzite pulling him roughly to his feet.

They lead him to a stone table and pressed him into its surface, binding him tightly. Zoisite watched in disbelieving horror as Kunzite brought out a rack of instruments; he could tell from their design that they were instruments of torture. He stared at Kunzite, his eyes filling with tears, and whispered, "Please, my love...don't do this to me."

He wasn't sure if he could take it; sure, he had been accustomed to torture, it was a part of his training, but he knew what the old Kunzite had been capable of, and if his experiences had been any indication, the new Kunzite would be much worse. He didn't even know why they were doing this to him; he didn't know what they wanted--but he was sure he would soon find out.

Beryl sat gracefully next to him, her fingers lifting smoothly to stroke his brow; she all but ignored Kunzite's preparations. "How long," she asked him quietly, "do you think it will take you to kill your lover?" Suddenly, in his mind, he saw the weaves binding his mentor to this woman. His suspicions were confirmed; Kunzite truly had been changed; he no longer was the man he once was. More than that, however, he saw the strengths and weaknesses in the spell. He instantly knew how to set Kunzite free of Beryl's influence, but with that knowledge came a very sobering realization--if he broke the bond between Kunzite and his new mistress, Kunzite would die. The bond was attached to Kunzite's very soul--Beryl left only one way out for any who would betray her.

"So you see," Beryl murmured as she continued to stroke his sweating forehead. "You can kill him in a stroke; set him free of me and the ghastly things he will do--and believe me, he would thank you for it--and you can join him in death. Are you willing to do that?" She smiled down at him, her expression was both calm and sweet. "Tell me, young one, what you will choose--will you give up now, and resign the both of you to death, or will to continue to hope, and live on?"

He didn't answer her, for Kunzite had approached him, a ghastly hook in his hands. Zoisite closed his eyes as he felt the sting of the implement; he clenched his teeth as it yanked through his flesh, exposing the intestines beneath it. He clenched his teeth, refusing to scream, and he tried to ignore Beryl as she continued to speak.

"Kill him now," she whispered, "and you'll both be free." Her eyes examined his face, seeing the refusal there. "No?" she continued, "Perhaps in a little while, you will change your mind." Her fingers continued to stroke his face as she fell silent, and he stared up at her in disgust even as a swift jerk from Kunzite's hands made him momentarily forget her presence.

He continued to grit his teeth as Kunzite continued, every once in a while he couldn't help himself, and a scream escaped his lips. But he made himself concentrate on something else, on anything else; he didn't dare focus on his lover or pay attention to Beryl's insidious voice. She kept prodding away at him, her voice tearing away his layers of sanity, making him forget his resolve to not harm his Kunzite-sama. And yet, as the pain went on and on, he couldn't help but wonder if she was right, and if it would be better if he just let the both of them die.

But he couldn't allow that to happen. He himself was going to die, he was sure of it; no body could survive the injuries his had sustained. But Kunzite still had a chance, he still had a hope, for as long as he remained alive, anything could happen. Endymion still lived; Endymion was powerful; he could set his mentor free. Kunzite might cause problems in the meantime--he had betrayed his prince--but Endymion could handle anything; he would understand. The prince was intelligent and strong, and he loved his Guardians. He would never abandon them. Surely, the prince would see Kunzite; and he would know what had happened. Surely Endymion would know how to set Kunzite free, and his mentor would be able to walk away from the tragedy and start a new life. If it happened that Zoisite wasn't by his side, well...he knew Kunzite could live without him. It would take time for his lover to forgive himself, and to move past the knowledge of what he had once been, but Zoisite was sure his mentor could overcome. Kunzite had always been strong; he stood more than a chance. No matter what Beryl had shown him, as long as Kunzite lived, he still had a chance. All he needed was time.

The Queen chuckled beside him; suddenly, he realized that she could read his thoughts. The movements he had taken to be mindless stroking were instead an insidious spell form, and she was using it to read though the barriers and into his mind. "You are a young fool," she told him, but her voice was delighted and more than a little amused. "Do you think I will ever let him go? Do you think your prince could possibly save him, or would even want to do so? I'm giving you his only chance to be free of me. Will you not take it?"

He wouldn't believe her. He refused to believe her. She was nothing more than a liar; there must be another way out for Kunzite. "Go to hell," he gasped, knowing it was foolish of him to waste his strength on a meaningless curse, but defiance was all that was left to him.

The hook in Kunzite's hands speared something within him; he gasped as it was slowly extracted from his body. "Kill him," the queen whispered, her voice subtly insidious next to the burning anguish, but Zoisite forced himself to ignore her. He focused on his goal--Kunzite must live on--and he remembered the past. He made himself look back on the person Kunzite had been, he made himself recall that there was more to his mentor than the hook presently in his hand. Kunzite had been the one who had found him, a youth trapped by prostitution, living away his days with no more than the hope that he might avoid some venereal disease. Kunzite had seen him, and had seen his situation; Zoisite had been rescued. Because of Kunzite, he had been adopted by a kind family, and had experienced the joy of having siblings, of being loved by wonderful parents. He had learned that there was more in the world than being sick and used; he had discovered the joy of unselfish love. "Kill him," she whispered, but Kunzite had healed him.

When Zoisite had been old enough, Kunzite had taken him to school. Not just any school, either, the older man had enrolled him in Endymion's personal academy; he was to share Kunzite's own rank and position. It was a tremendous honor, and it had sealed the older man within his affections for all time, but more than that, Kunzite had taught him to think for himself. He had been given a choice--Kunzite had made him well aware of what it meant to be a Guardian; he had been given a chance to refuse, something not offered to the usual students. "Kill him," the queen whispered, but Kunzite had given him freedom.

Zoisite screamed; Kunzite's blade had ripped out more of his flesh. But Zoisite remembered a different time, with a different blade; he remembered when he had given Kunzite a sword made with his own two hands. Kunzite had taken the blade, not understanding the meaning it held for Zoisite, his face disbelieving as the younger man had declared his love. Zoisite remembered the tears that had ran down the older man's face when he finally had understood, and he remembered the warmth of their first true embrace. "Kill him," the queen whispered, but Kunzite had loved him.

No matter what happened, he would not let Kunzite go.

Finally, Beryl stopped her incessant murmuring to look at him more fully. "How very noble of you," she told him, "But let me tell you a little secret. With your every refusal, you are binding Kunzite more tightly to me. And you are losing yourself as well--you are becoming what he has become. The more you fight me, the stronger your natural bond to him grows, and I draw on that strength through him. All of your energy is powering my link with your dear mentor, and through that, I am changing your soul as well. So, please, continue refusing to die, continue powering my hold on your lover and on your own destruction. It only makes me stronger." She paused, and smiled down at him. "So, my young fool, will you still continue to do what pleases me?"

For Zoisite, there wasn't any type of choice. "I won't let him die," he told her, "Never."

She smiled at him, pointed fangs glistening in inky light. "Good." The floodgates to her power finally opened, a wave of darkness pounded into his mind, overcoming his soul. It tore and ravaged through the bond between he and his lover; its path tested and securing an unbreakable hold over them both. His loyalty had sealed him, and she continued to bind him using his own energy.

But Zoisite didn't care. He didn't care that all she said might be true. Because no matter what Beryl had told him, there always was a chance that she was wrong, and that she could be overcome. She had given him a way out; she had given him a chance. She was letting him live. She was allowing both he and his Kunzite-sama to live. Surely, someday, they would find a way out, and when they did, they would be doing it together.

In the meantime, he would be with his lover. Somewhere in the creature that tortured him there had to be some small remainder of the man Kunzite had been; he would find that man, and nurture him. Zoisite looked up at the monster who contained within him the jewel of his life, and he smiled at him, hoping that somehow, his mentor, the true Kunzite-sama, saw him doing so. In a voice harsh from pain and almost lost in agony, he spoke to him. "I won't ever leave you alone," he promised.

The new Kunzite obviously didn't understand what he meant. For as darkness overcame Zoisite's mind, and he felt himself being pulled deeper and deeper into Beryl's 'death', he heard Kunzite tell him that he was in no position to be doling out threats.

Zoisite smiled at that.

In matters of the heart, Kunzite always had been the clueless one.