This story is based on the anime series Kyou Kara Maou (or Kyo Kara Maoh). As this is also the second part of Soul Hunters, those who have not read the aforementioned story are strongly encouraged to read it first before proceeding with this part.

Warnings: Slash, Gore, Violence, and Dark Themes

In the end, it is impossible not to become what others believe you are.

-Julius Caesar-

Part 2: The Soul Breaker

Prologue: Nightmare

When Ryuu decided that it was finally time to die, he found himself with a rather long interval to reflect upon his most recent life, compelling him to think back to all the events and misfortunes that had led him to this point.

He was no martyr; he knew that much of himself. Life – or several lifetimes to be more accurate – had shown him nothing but cruelty and injustice. Sacrifice had no place in his heart. Kindness was a strange feeling. Love was something he had never dealt with.

Which ultimately begged the question – why was he doing this? Why was he risking his existence for someone else? What had possibly possessed him to choose an eternity of suffering just so somebody else could live?

But no, Ryuu contradicted himself, not just 'somebody.' He was not giving up this much for just 'somebody.'

It was for somebody he loved.

Love. The irony of the word left a bitter feeling at the back of his throat. Never in a thousand years had he imagined himself in this position – to have fallen so irrevocably in love that he was actually prepared to do something so dangerous, so stupid, so absurd…

The last words came to him in Weisser's voice. His brother, his friend, his comrade had made no secret of his disdain for the course that Ryuu was about to take. Ryuu could understand completely, but even Weisser's disapproval could not dissuade him from acting on his decision. His mind had been made, although not by him but for him.

Dictated by the cards dealt to him by the universe.

Mapped out by the very nature of his soul.

"Are you ready?"

The question jolted Ryuu back to awareness and he turned his head just in time to see Weisser approaching from the side, arms crossed, face pinched together in censure. He was wearing the body of a young stableman, which, from the looks of it, was fast suffering from untimely decay. In the disorder of the past hours, Ryuu guessed that Weisser did not have the luxury to be picky.

Ryuu did not move, oblivious to the numbness that had crept up his body for staying in the same position for the past thirty minutes. A thick cake of mud covered his hands, his knees, and a good part of his torso. Every part of him that was not soiled brown with dirt was stained red with drying blood. A mound of freshly-turned earth lay conspicuously before him.

"The Keepers are on their way," Weisser informed him. "You have to hurry."

Ryuu noted the urgency in his companion's voice, but he refused to be affected by it. Instead, he surveyed his handiwork thoughtfully, wondering if he had done enough. In the past, the bodies of the people he had bested in the fight were always left alone to rot in the open. He had never buried anybody before. He had never cared enough to do so.

But Frey was different. Frey deserved a proper burial…a decent farewell.

The wind blew against his face, throwing his hair in disarray. As he lifted a hand to brush the white strands away from his eyes, Ryuu thought he heard a voice. Somewhere deep inside his head, he could almost imagine Frey saying, "Stop looking so pathetic. It doesn't suit you."

Something pricked at the corner of his eyes, and he suddenly felt like crying and laughing at the same time. He had never been through something like this before. Even in death, Frey had a way of making him feel so terribly conflicted. How was Ryuu supposed to feel now that Frey was gone? Now that he had succeeded in killing him?

"Ryuu?" There was a hint of impatience in Weisser's voice.

Ryuu glanced at him, forcing a smile. "I'm so sorry."

Weisser's face softened. "I know."

"You do understand, don't you?"

It was irrational, but Ryuu felt as though it was important that at least one other person knew what was really going on, that at least one other person understood the implications of what he was about to do.

Weisser nodded in response.

"Thank you," Ryuu said sincerely. He plucked a nearby flower and twirled it absentmindedly with one hand, the blue petals quivering precariously above a delicate white stem.

Nightlock. An infamous flower that was as poisonous as it was beautiful. The mere scent could put a lesser man to sleep in seconds; a drop from its crushed petals could stop a person's heart in an instant.

Frey had been very fond of this place, particularly because of the multitude of nightlock flowers that grew exclusively in the area. They stretched down to the grassy slope – a carpet of white and blue that contrasted beautifully against a backdrop of green. Frey did not care in the slightest that the flowers were venomous. He always did have a bizarre preference for things…

…and people, Ryuu thought with a bleak smile. Frey also did not care in the slightest that Ryuu was dangerous. But then again, how could Frey have known that the man he had trusted and befriended would end up ruining his life?

Ryuu released the flower in mid-twirl and watched it spiral down to the fresh mound. The idea of a final resting place had never occurred to him; it had never mattered to him before. Not until now. But at that moment, he felt glad that this was the last place he would see – here where Frey reposed in infinite peace beneath the earth, guarded by a thousand nightlocks in bloom.

Ryuu placed one hand atop Frey's grave, closed his eyes for a second to offer a final plea for forgiveness, then stood up. Frey's sword, the hilt shimmering green in the starlight, lay neglected on the ground. Ryuu was a bit surprised that Frey had kept it with him in spite of Ryuu's betrayal.

He picked the sword up and plunged the blade deep into the earth. There would be no marker or headstone, nothing else but this. The nightlocks would spread over the bare ground in due time, and Frey would remain undisturbed. Protected.

Ryuu gave Weisser a weary smile. They both knew what was coming next. They had been through this before, had bid each other farewell a thousand times before, and yet, Ryuu found it a bit difficult to do so again. Was it because he knew that when he meets Weisser once more, it would really be goodbye for good? Ryuu shook off the thought. There was no other way around it other than say—

"Goodbye."

Weisser averted his gaze. Ryuu did too, after a second, already starting to feel faint from the flowers' potent fragrance, the smell creeping into his system, the poison crippling his body, his mind…

But not his soul. His soul would remain intact, unharmed. The only being who could damage it was now dead.

Ryuu pulled a dagger from his sleeve and pressed one side against his throat. Congealed blood had dulled its shiny exterior, but it still looked as lethal as it did a few hours ago, when it had successfully claimed the life of one other person.

Frey, Frey, Frey…!

He was screaming the name inside his head. He wondered if he would ever be given the chance to explain, and if he did, would Frey forgive him? Maybe never, because after this lifetime – even if it took years or decades or centuries – Ryuu would have to ruin Frey's life again…

Ryuu fought down the urge to curse the world at the injustice upon which his entire existence was founded. He stopped himself, knowing that it would not do him any good. Enough, he chided himself. He had wasted more than enough of his miserable life dwelling upon the issue.

It was time to end this.

Ryuu took his last breath. Then he moved his hand in a slashing motion and – in one, vicious stroke – took his own life.

The nightlocks swayed with the wind, and in the stillness that followed, as his soul teetered on the brink of life and death, Ryuu thought he heard someone weeping.

"No one goes there," the girl told the stranger in the cloak. "No one can go there."

"Why not?" the stranger asked.

She regarded the stranger curiously. He was quite young – perhaps eighteen or nineteen, about the same age as she was – with a pale face framed by tresses of blond hair that fell short of his shoulders. His eyes, when he turned to fully look at her, were a startling shade of green.

He was breathtakingly beautiful.

The stranger was covered in a drab, travel-worn cloak, but beneath that, the girl could see a hint of a rich, dark blue garment lined with white silk. Around his neck hung a pendant, with a faded jade-like stone set in the center. When the stranger moved, the girl spotted a sword secured to his waist, encased in a scabbard that appeared like it could be made of real silver.

He must be extremely wealthy, the girl decided, to be able to afford such pretty things. She wondered what had brought him to this isolated region.

The girl had been gathering firewood when she saw the stranger standing by the gorge, looking so out of place amidst the rusticity of the surroundings. She initially thought that the boy was lost, but now that she had talked to him, she knew that it wasn't so.

The stranger was here for a reason.

It wasn't really unusual to see someone like him in these parts. In fact, the girl had met several travelers before – mostly merchants or treasure-hunters, who were lured to the mountains in search of rare and valuable goods. The stranger, however, didn't look like either.

"They don't call it the land of the dead for no reason," the girl said, picking up a piece of wood and adding it to her pile. "They say the place is cursed."

The stranger cocked his head to her, his gaze inquiring. "The land of the dead?" he echoed softly.

The girl answered him with a question, "Have you heard of the Ryuzoku before? The dragon people?"

The stranger gave her a vague sort of look that was neither a confirmation nor a denial. "What about them?"

"Well," – she gestured to the mountains – "that's their city – or at least it used to be, before they were all wiped out in the war…"

The stranger didn't seem surprised at what he had just heard. Far from it, he seemed to know what was there all along, and was merely waiting for confirmation. He inquired, "How did you know what it was? You said nobody can go there."

"People used to go there all the time," the girl explained. "It's the only place in the land where you could get nightlock." It was a flower used to make a very expensive kind of poison, and it was one of the goods that drew foreigners to the mountains – although only a few of those enterprising souls ever made their way back.

The stranger perked up. "Where exactly does it grow?"

The girl frowned. "Are you here for the flowers, or for what's buried beneath them?"

The look he gave her was one of honest perplexity. "I beg your pardon?"

She eyed him in disbelief. "I'd advise you not to go. The flowers in themselves are already dangerous. If you factor in the dragons that roam that area, you'd be walking into a death trap. And more recently, there's the outpost, too…"

The stranger's brow furrowed, but he seemed to have registered only the last part of her warning. "The outpost?"

It was built a few months ago, by a group of soldiers from way down south. She told the boy so, and added in a grim tone, "They've captured anyone who tried to cross to the other side. They've also been hunting dragons for the past weeks."

The stranger glanced sharply at her, his green eyes flashing with anger. He clenched his fists. "Hunting…?"

The girl noted the cold fury in the stranger's eyes and she shrank back in apprehension. For a moment there, she could have sworn – or maybe it was just the light? – that the boy's emerald-green irises that she had admired earlier, had turned…white…

But the moment ended quickly. The stranger blinked, his features morphing into an apologetic expression. "I'm sorry…you were talking about an outpost? Do you happen to know who's running it?"

"No one knows for sure," the girl replied, watching the stranger's face warily, "but my grandfather says that they're part of a very old race who believe the ancient stories much more than they should. He says that they're just too superstitious for their own good…" She trailed off and glanced worriedly at the stranger. He had wrapped his arms tightly around himself, his fingernails digging painfully into his shoulders. He looked like he was trying so hard to control himself from doing something…violent. "Hey…are you alright?"

The stranger's lips moved, in what could be an attempt at a smile, but he only ended up looking miserable. "Yes…I just…" He bit his lip hard, drawing blood. "Could you…talk about something else, please?"

The girl hesitated, mystified at the request. "But…"

"Please!" the stranger said forcefully. Then drawing a deep calming, breath, he implored, "About…the city's downfall…could you tell me about that?"

"O-of course," the girl acquiesced, seeing the desperation in the stranger's eyes. "There's a popular legend around here about the city's collapse…the one about a devil and a prince…"

"Go on…"

The girl gave the stranger another concerned glance, and against her better judgment, she began, "People say that a powerful devil lived deep in the mountains a long time ago," – she waved a hand to the horizon – "feeding on the souls of hapless creatures who happened to stray into his path. He was indestructible, and everyone who challenged him was immediately killed. No one could measure up to his powers."

The stranger nodded mutely, beckoning her to carry on.

"Years later, a prince was born in the dragon city, and it was foretold that only he had the powers to defeat the devil. The devil set off to challenge the prince, but when he met him, something made him change his mind."

The stranger's eyes flickered with emotion. "He fell in love."

It was a statement, not a question. The girl bobbed her head. "The devil befriended the prince, and vowed to start a new life so that he could be with him. Unaware of the devil's true identity, the prince came to love him too, and for a period of time, they lived peacefully together."

The stranger's eyes were fixed unblinkingly on her face.

"But the devil couldn't hide or repress his true nature for very long. One day, while the prince was away from the city, the devil completely lost control of his own mind. He single-handedly destroyed the capital and killed everyone who tried to stop him. When the prince came back from his journey, he found his home in ashes. Enraged, he challenged the man he loved to a fight."

The stranger was still listening raptly. She blushed slightly at his attention, flattered at his interest.

She went on, "And so the prince and the devil fought to the death. Some say that the prince lost on purpose; others say that the devil tricked him. No one could tell for sure, just that in the end, it was the devil who prevailed. He killed the prince." The girl made a slashing motion with her hand. The stranger flinched. "When he came to his senses, he was overcome with anguish at what he had done, but his sorrow couldn't undo his actions, and no amount of remorse could ever bring the prince back."

The wind came rushing towards them with a sudden whoosh. There was a distant roar, almost like a clap of thunder, and the girl's ears pricked with alarm. That sounded like a…dragon…

The stranger must have heard it too, for he inclined his head towards the direction of the disturbing noise, but he did not look the least bit troubled. When he spoke, he just sounded upset for some reason. "What happened next?"

"Huh?" the girl said, distracted. "Oh…the devil buried his lover in the nightlock field, and then…he killed himself." There were a variety of endings, actually, but she always preferred that particular conclusion. It was tragic, but it felt very touching at the same time.

"That's why people think the place is haunted?"

"Cursed, not haunted," the girl corrected. "Many believe that the events of that day had tainted the land for all eternity. It was – and forever will be – the land of the dead."

"That's why they're trying to stop people from travelling to the ruins?"

"I told you – some people are very superstitious," the girl said. "Some believe that the soul of the prince will return to the city. They say that he will awaken to take revenge on the one who betrayed and murdered him. They say that through him, the Ryuzoku will rise again, and together, they will reduce the world to ashes…"

The stranger nodded thoughtfully. "But…didn't the Ryuzoku return there, some years ago?"

"Well yes, but…" She stopped and regarded the stranger with growing suspicion. "How did you know about that?"

"Oh…someone told me."

The girl waited for the stranger to explain, but he didn't bother to, and the seconds stretched on in silence. Looking at him then, the girl thought that he could be a prince himself. There was just something so refined about the way he spoke, the way he moved, and especially the way he looked.

An impossible idea crossed the girl's mind. If the stranger intended to travel to the ruined city, what if…?

She left the thought unfinished. It was preposterous. This boy couldn't be who she thought he was. The stories were just…stories. Besides, she thought, sneaking another glance at the stranger's face, he didn't look like someone who would – or could – "reduce the world to ashes." He looked kind…maybe just a little too…distraught, as though the very weight of the world was upon his young shoulders…

"The devil and the prince…" the stranger said suddenly, startling her from her thoughts, "did the story say how they'd eventually end up?"

"People say that they were meant to fight each other until the end of time," she answered.

"Oh." The stranger seemed disheartened. "So that's all there will ever be, huh?" He gave her an odd, nearly mocking, sort of smile. "If it comes down to another fight between them, who do you think will win this time?"

The girl paused to consider the question, wondering why the answer seemed so important to the stranger. "I'm not sure that there would be – or if there ever was – any victor."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because they love each other," she explained matter-of-factly. "Whichever way it turns out, one of them would have to kill the person he loves. So even if one wins…he wouldn't really win at all…"

The stranger seemed taken aback at her answer. He fell silent, his eyes drifting back to the mountains, seeming as if he was struggling with a decision. The girl followed his gaze, making no effort to start another conversation. A few seconds trickled by before the stranger moved, his cloak rustling noisily as he did so.

"I have to go. Thank you for your help."

The girl blinked in surprise. "Where are you going?"

The stranger looked darkly amused, as though the answer should have been obvious. "Home."

"W-what?"

The stranger did not answer, and instead, started to walk away.

"Wait!" the girl called out, running after him. "If you're planning on going to the ruins, I told you it's—"

The words died on her throat. She had reached for the stranger's elbow, but the latter had spun around, slapping her hand away. His eyes had narrowed into slits, and as she stared, the green of his irises slowly bled out into white.

"Do not touch me!"

The girl froze, a chill slithering up her spine. The warning came from the stranger, but the voice sounded wrong…different…eerie…as though it belonged to somebody else. The stranger's hand flew to his mouth, and as quickly as that, his face returned to normal. He looked just as shocked as she was at what he just did.

"I'm sorry," he said hollowly. "Just…please don't try to follow me."

The girl stared, wide-eyed, and the question she had been meaning to ask all along burst from her lips.

"Who are you?"

The stranger shook his head, and without another word, he took off towards the trees and disappeared amongst the foliage. There was another surge of cold wind, followed quickly by a rumbling sound that could be the beating of a pair of gigantic wings. An unearthly shriek filled the air, and the girl stumbled back in panic. There was the crackle and crunch of leaves as various animals scuttled across the woods, sounding like they were all running away from something…

And then, all was silent once more.

The girl shivered. She took a step forward, intending to follow the stranger, but she knew somehow that he would be long gone by now. She paused, heart pounding with dread. Why did she have a strong feeling, a premonition, that something bad was about to happen…?

But no. It couldn't be. It just couldn't be. Over and over, the girl tried to convince herself that everything was going to be fine.

She was wrong.

That night, a few miles away from the girl's village, the outpost near the foot of the mountain started to burn. Amidst the fire and the cries of the dying soldiers, a figure in a tattered cloak stood impassively, as though deaf and blind to the suffering people around him.

Far above the angry flames, silhouetted against the ink-black sky, a dragon soared triumphantly.

Wolfram awoke with a jerk.

He found himself on the floor, face pressed hard against the granite. He felt momentarily numb, but when he shifted, the pain rushed through his body in sharp, undulating waves. He bit his lip to stop himself from making a sound. He should be used to this by now.

After a second, he rose slowly, gingerly, finding several splinters of wood embedded on his palm, shreds of cloth clinging onto his skin, and rubbles of stone scattered about him. He pushed himself to a standing position, taking another second or so to find his bearings. He looked around him. A good part of the room had turned black with soot.

"My lord?"

A tentative voice, somewhere to his left. Wolfram turned ever so slightly. His head thrummed unpleasantly, and his entire body ached with each minute movement that he made.

Emil approached him cautiously, his stance defensive. "My lord? Are you awake?"

The question connoted another meaning entirely. Wolfram gave the man a wry smile and looked away. He did not bother to reply.

Emil maintained his position, one hand on the hilt of his sword.

'Kill him.'

Wolfram winced. The voice came so suddenly, right out of nowhere, and from the way it sounded, the speaker could be standing just right next to him. But even without turning to look, Wolfram knew that there was no one there.

The voice – as he had realized after the first few times that it had spoken to him – was emanating from inside his head, from somewhere within him. It was a bit unsettling, Wolfram thought, to have something that only he could hear. Now he knew what it was like to be crazy.

'Kill him,' the voice repeated.

Wolfram ignored the order. Wearily, he made his way towards the window. The room smelled like the inside of a furnace, rancid and suffocating at the same time. He propped the shutters open to get a breath of fresh air.

He immediately wished that he hadn't.

From where he was standing, he could see piles and piles of burned carcasses, and there was nothing in them that would dispute the fact that they had once been men. He clamped a hand over his mouth to prevent himself from gagging.

Did he do this? Did he destroy the whole building? Killed all the people who guarded it?

"My lord," Emil ventured after a beat, "if you're well enough to travel, I'd suggest that we move out as soon as possible. We are so near and—"

The rest of the man's statement was lost in a furious, mental screech, as that voice – the voice that had been speaking to him in Ryuu's tone – said imperiously, 'What are you waiting for? Kill him. You don't need him. We don't need him.'

It took all of Wolfram's willpower to stop himself from acting on that command. His entire body shook a little from the effort it took to prevent himself from blacking out, and for a frightening moment, he thought that he would succumb once again to the darkness that hovered menacingly at the edges of his consciousness, stripping him of both control and conscience. He was successful this time, as he managed to push the darkness back, to silence the voice that had gleefully wanted him to kill and destroy.

His inner struggle did not go unnoticed. Emil saw the way his fingers dug into the window ledge, and the man actually took a full step back, his face wary and repulsed. Wolfram could understand the source of the man's reaction; he could hardly blame him for feeling that way. He guessed he should just feel lucky that the man had not acted upon his dislike – no, hatred – for him.

At least not yet.

Laughter burst from his lips – laughter that did not belong to him. With a great effort, Wolfram forced himself to stop.

'He wants you dead – you know that,' the voice – Ryuu's voice – jeered, 'Everyone wants you dead.'

Wolfram did not need to be reminded of that; he could already tell from the way Emil and everybody else looked at him. But of course, they couldn't lay a finger on him, protected as he was with an ancient, if not utterly ridiculous, rule. Safety from his own subordinates was Wolfram's privilege when he became the Ryuzoku's Master.

"My lord?" Emil eventually asked when Wolfram made no response. There was no hint of concern there, not that Wolfram was expecting any.

"How long did I…?" he started to ask.

"The entire night, my lord," Emil answered promptly.

"Did I…did I do this…?"

"Y-yes…"

There was a tense edge in the man's voice. From the corner of his eyes, Wolfram saw that part of the man's left leg was scorched quite badly. Guilt rose to his throat, knowing that his companion's wounds were most probably his doing, too. Deep within him however, Ryuu cheered in macabre delight.

'Finish him off,' he urged, 'Go on. Burn him!'

Without warning, a fireball emerged atop his palm. At the same time, his hand moved against his will, hurling the summoned element recklessly through the air. Emil had drawn his sword in one swift motion, and with a slight limp, backed quickly towards the exit.

As a second one started to take form on his other hand, Wolfram quickly reined the fire in, managing to disperse the flames before they could fully take shape. Shaking with suppressed fury at his own incompetence, he fumed mentally, addressing the being inside him for the first time, 'Stop doing that!"

'Doing what?' Ryuu asked in mock innocence. 'You want this too, don't you?'

'What gave you that particular impression?' Wolfram thought angrily. Why would he want not having control of his own body? Of his own element? Of his own mind?

Ryuu laughed. 'Then you make it stop. They told you what you needed to do, didn't they?"

As with all the other times that that particular line had been thrown at his face, Wolfram could do nothing but grit his teeth and shut his eyes tightly. As soon as he did, he saw him – a wraithlike vision in frayed, bloodstained clothes, eyes and hair leeched entirely of color. He looked exactly like that time, that moment in the battlefield, when Wolfram had held him and watched him die.

The figure's mouth quirked into a knowing smile.

'I thought so,' the man taunted, raising a scarcely solid hand to pat his cheek. 'You couldn't hurt me at all, could you?'

Wolfram shuddered at the touch, although he knew that it wasn't real. It couldn't be real. Ryuu was gone, in more ways than just being physically dead. The man's soul – the soul that now resides within Wolfram – had turned into nothing more than a foreign presence that had been trying, with undue persistence, to take over his body, his consciousness, his life…

'This isn't real,' Wolfram promised himself, 'This isn't Ryuu.' Rallying all the self-control that he had left, he held his chin up high and thought crossly, "I wouldn't be too sure of that if I were you.'

'You couldn't,' Ryuu said, his voice ringing with amusement. 'You wouldn't…'

Wolfram tried to look away, but Ryuu held his eyes, his smile broadening into a smirk.

'You love me, don't you?"

It was as though someone had physically stabbed him in the heart. Now that was cruel and unfair. With a ragged gasp, Wolfram wrenched his gaze off the man's sneering face. He opened his eyes.

He was still there, inside that narrow room, surrounded by ashes and shattered stones. From the other side, Emil was watching him distrustfully.

Wolfram bowed down to hide his face. For what seemed to him like the hundredth time that day, he wondered whether he had enough strength left to pull through this – for want of a better word – "task" that he had decided to undertake. Ryuu was right. He couldn't – wouldn't – hurt him. As foolish as it sounded, Wolfram had feelings for him.

He loved him.

And that, Wolfram thought grimly, was the problem. He must go on, no matter who stood in his way. He couldn't stop now, even if it meant giving up his own life and his very soul in the end. He could never turn back from this path that he had chosen for himself, even if it was difficult, and dangerous, and unutterably stupid. There was just nothing that he wouldn't do anymore.

Wolfram lifted his face up towards the window, where he could see a blanket of dull grey clouds draped over a row of snow-capped mountains. Somewhere beyond that lay the ruins of Raven Port, a city that had once been a significant part of his life – or previous life, to be more exact. In some strange way, he was going home.

A part of him rebelled instantly at that thought. No. 'Home' was back in the land he had left behind – in Shin Makoku, where his countrymen are; in the Bielefeld territories, where his uncle and kin reside; in Blood Pledge Castle, where his mother, his brothers, and his friends are waiting for him.

Home was where Greta is…where Yuuri is…

This unfamiliar place that he had been trying to get to, this distant country that Shinou had told him to travel to, was definitely not home.

Why had everything come down to this? Why did if feel like he was trapped within a nightmare that just wouldn't end? Wasn't it just a month ago when he'd decided to leave his life behind?

It already felt like forever.

Wolfram shivered. He glared at the darkening sky, at the black clouds in the horizon that hinted at an imminent bout of heavy rain. He had hoped for a bit of good weather once they start travelling again, but even the gods weren't on his side on this matter. The entire universe seemed to be against him.

'Give it up. You will not succeed.'

Wolfram scoffed. 'I have to try.'

He could just imagine Ryuu frowning. 'You will fail for sure. You have too much faith in the wrong people.'

'I believe in Shinou-Heika.'

'And that boy?' Ryuu continued disdainfully. 'You think he will be able to save you?'

'Yuuri will find me.' There was a simple conviction in that thought.

'You think he loves you?'

That sounded more like a challenge rather than a question. Wolfram thought in defiance, 'I know he does.'

That was the only thing he was certain of right now, the one constant thing amidst the disorder of his life. It was the one truth that Wolfram still believed in, the sole anchor that grounded him to reality when everything else had gone so wrong. The darkness had taken nearly everything that Wolfram had – his body, his life, and part of his soul. He knew that it wouldn't rest until it claimed his heart, too.

"Perhaps," Ryuu replied, 'But not as much as I do.'

Wolfram wanted to scream. He knew that it wasn't true, that it wasn't really Ryuu who was speaking to him, that the darkness inside him was merely toying with his feelings…but still, Wolfram couldn't help but believe, if only for a little while, if only to lessen the pain and remorse that weighed him down, that the words were sincere…that they were real…

And that was another problem. He was being controlled, his guilt being used as a leash to lead him on. Wolfram hated himself for yielding each time, but he always did.

"Damn you," he muttered resentfully, realizing after a moment that he had spoken out loud.

Ryuu – no, the darkness – was laughing again. When Wolfram closed his eyes, he could make out the faint outline of a smirking face, a mane of long, flowing hair, and phantom arms that engulfed him in a cold, unrelenting grip.

'You're mine,' the figure whispered in his ears, 'I won't let you go.'

Wolfram shuddered. How he wished that he could make everything disappear. How he wished that everything was just a dream…a very bad dream… But it was foolish to even try to deceive himself at this point, for he knew – even as his entire being rejected the idea – that this nightmare was his life now. And unfortunately for him, there was no waking up.

'Stop looking so pathetic. It doesn't suit you.'

The familiar reproach took him by surprise and stripped him completely of his defenses. Frey's memories suddenly flooded his mind, reminding him of a distant past, of a life and a love that were tragically cut short before they could even begin…

Without any warning at all, without even any regard at the fact that he wasn't alone in the room, Wolfram started to cry.

Author's Notes:

1. Okay, first of all, I wanted to say that I really REALLY struggled with how to begin this story. I had a fair idea on what I wanted to do, and what direction I wanted to take, but I just didn't know where I wanted to start. I wanted to draw a parallel between this prologue and the one I wrote for Soul Hunters; that was why I started this with Ryuu's demise, as a sort of counterpart to Frey's death. I also wanted to start at the Crypt of Souls again, but the events just wouldn't shape up the way I wanted them to. After four versions that I felt didn't really work out as a prologue, I decided to go with this.

2. The legend of the devil and the prince is a loose retelling of the events that actually happened between Ryuu and Frey. Legends are founded on reality, and within the context of this story, I could just imagine a tale such as this sprouting from what happened to their relationship.

3. Nightlock is a term from Suzanne Collins' book, The Hunger Games.

4. Special thanks to Aella Antiope for the help on the first part of this chapter.

5. Thank you also to everyone who read and reviewed my other stories. Just to give anyone who's waiting for the next chapters an update – I'm currently working on the fourth chapter of Games Demons Play, a second story for Anthology is also in the works, and chapter one for this story is also nearly done. Whew! Till next time!