=I=

The voice within

What they were doing was all in vain. Every new move of Priscilla was taking them closer to the end.

Chronos fought bravely, he was all that was left of the legacy of the male Claymores, and did not want to go down in silence, but with pride as a warrior in his prime. Until the very last moment, he grasped the image of Lars in his human form. He was smiling and looking at Chronos with complicity. It was the smile of the day they recognized their love and their friendship went beyond. "Lars, I am coming now…" he thought, in peace, as Priscilla was shredding his body to pieces.

Clare, Miria and all other Claymores were fighting at they never fought before, exploiting every instant of their life together to foster their coordination and strength. Octavia adapted incredibly well and quickly, and was gladly fighting as the Claymore she used to be. She still believed Europa made the only rationale choice, but she had never run and she never would. She was looking upon generations and generations of Claymores, and it was her right place to be.

It was not enough.

Priscilla was too strong, and she had not even reached the peak of her power, yet. Feigning an attack on Miria she prompted a coordinated efforts of all Claymores to protect their leader, but then she went for her real target, Cassandra. The abyssal one assaulted her with a mix of rage, survival instinct and technique, but Priscilla just evaded all strokes and piercing through with her left claw, she dived into Cassandra's abdomen. Cassandra started to tremble in seizures, lashing against everything out of control and with horrifying screams. At Miria's hint, all Claymores dodged the lashes and attacked Cassandra's body, but as they were close to hit it, the surface transmuted into a dark purple crystal, which deflected all hits. They were forced to go back in combat stance and wait.

Lines of fractures all of a sudden started to create in Cassandra's body, which then exploded in a burst of crystal splinters. Priscilla emerged, in her horned demon form and with her evil grin. Looking at the grey sky, she was feeling complete: "I am… as one. No memory is hidden, now. Nothing is amiss from my being anymore.". She then turned her eyes to the Claymores, her piercing gaze on Clare. "I know I won't feel what I hoped, but I have gone through long looking forward to the chance of killing you again, and time has come. Plus, your friends are a nice addition."

Priscilla was enjoying it, very much. She enjoyed her amusement with Raki and the way that through overwhelming Raki's training she also defeated Isley again. She enjoyed her fight with Riful, especially in that weird fusion with the grunt of hers. She had already toyed with Chronos, extinguishing a breed of inferior males. And she knew she could become even stronger, and now that she had absorbed Cassandra she felt that she was right. But now the scenario was like a special gift. She could fight Claymores pathetically wishing her dead for years, including Clare, that little girl frantically attempting to breath among her tears for Teresa, even if she could not feel the real thrill of a battle. "Mmh, now, who should I start with?"

Clare was looking at Priscilla as horned demon, current sight and memories overlapping, mesmerized. As a fresh Claymore, she was just a bit short of perfection. Awakened, she was the sum of all fears, unstoppable. Her final form was pure evil beauty, without the chaos of other awakened beings. She chose that form for herself, Clare was sure about it. Her will was strong enough to contain the power in the form she had the day she was born as the scourge of her time. She wanted to be an enduring memento to self: when all her memories got back, that moment was the sweeter of her existence. When she killed Teresa, the Claymore that had humiliated her twice. And yet, she was the one last standing, she was the winner. Clare pictured that Priscilla could savor the surprise in Teresa's eyes, as she disarmed her. She could savor how the Claymore could not recover in time, as she was aiming for her head.

In Clare's memories, there was despair in the hearts of Irene and the others. And she could still feel her fear as little girl, so powerful that even if every bit of her was telling her to run away as fast as she could, or to rush to Teresa's body, or to grab a rock and hit Priscilla, she remained still as stone.

Clare looked around at her companions. They had been able to wound Priscilla, but only to see her superior regeneration powers to wash away all their efforts, and they were growing tired. She showed no exhaustion and was escalating, and they were already slowing down.

Priscilla then seemed as she had finally decided what to do, and spoke to Clare: "I remember that the Organization ranked the Claymores. I was number two when I was only a child, and defeated your legendary number one. Now, I exist in a world beyond your world. Nothing compares to me, I am the origin, and the end. I am the incarnation of fate, a fate of death."

Clare yelled in rage: "You could never defeat her, you could just kill her. Her only fault was not to see that you were becoming all you wished for. You were not resisting, you never wanted to! You were fighting youma but your heart always wanted to become one! You deserved no mercy… You deserved nothing!"

Clare remembered when Teresa was cut down by Priscilla. She could not move, she could not find the courage to die, to honor the Claymore that saved her. "This is all my fault, I caused all of this. I am just a nullity that doomed everything it touched… I made Teresa break rules, I made her soft... I wanted hope… A mother… I just… ruined everything."

Priscilla smiled, she wanted to taunt Clare, and apparently it was such an easy task.

Clare's anger and resolve returned. She squeezed her grip on her sword and mustered her youki. She recalled when Jean died to save her, to bring her back. Another one better than her dying before her eyes to save her when she did not deserve it. She could not awaken again, because she was seeing Jean's eyes. But now, she no longer felt any boundary: there was no point in holding, she would die that day, as she should have died with Teresa long before. Maybe leaving behind all humanity she could be of some help. Miria, the others, might have had an opportunity this way. All was lost for her, but for once she could perhaps help for real.

She surrendered to the flow of youki, without regrets. She felt her body changing, as years before against Rigaldo; then, more than that. She felt her point of non-return, and then passed it. She did not need to return. She understood it then: no true awakening can be reached if one wishes to return; she had to let go. She would be dead long before but for Teresa, she lived on borrowed time and no longer wanted to. As she was feeling the beast taking over, there was still part of her that's could not enjoy her state. Perhaps she was still better than Priscilla, but this provided no comfort. She was aware that everything was now driven by necessity. There was no choice, probably there had never been.

"There is another choice, child"

A weak voice sounded in her mind, like a shy whisper, but Clare dismissed it. She felt the sheer power of the awakening, growing and growing to match her fury. Time slowed down, she could perceive the surroundings on different spectrums, everything was black, white and auras. She could clearly see the heart of darkness within her enemy. She craved destruction for her nemesis, all she wanted was to hurt her, to make her pay, to throw at her all she had.

Miria and the others were worriedly watching Clare. In a whisper, they were begging Clare to stop. None could raise her voice, they knew it would not matter and stood still sensing the terrible powers in struggle. After all, their life was that of monsters fighting monsters.

Priscilla was wearing her best grin as she was watching Clare's transformation: "I feel your power… Barely, to be honest. It's nothing. I ignored you long ago, maybe I really hoped to have the chance to kill you, and her, again, after some fight, but… You are no fight. You are still… entertaining though, that I admit."

Clare was furious: "Shut up!" She charged, her forceful steps stomped the ground, breaking stones when discharging the strength for a leap. She was using her sword, and her off-hand claw, and all her tendrils as whips or blades, in a storm of blows. However, Priscilla nonchalantly dodged the attacks and continued to speak, without even assuming a combat stance.

"As a fighter you are decent, but probably even some of your companions here would beat you. You started as the last of them all, and over time could climb a few positions. Ah ah… Should I be impressed?"

Clare kept attacking, to no avail. Her blows were savage, but none of them was landing. Priscilla continued to enjoy her monologue.

"And your awakening? I bet you still hoped to live in a fairy tale, where passion and pure feelings at the end could win. Clare, the tragic hero, sacrificing everything to beat evil. Well, I am sorry to spoil it for you, but you are even short of the power of the abyssal lords. I defeated creatures just today that could easily obliterate you. You prove no match for me. You have little youma in you, Claymores are vessels of youma, and you are almost an empty vessel. No wonder why your youki is so limited."

Clare was in a state of uncontrolled and blind rage, she was frantically trying to hit Priscilla, screaming. "Shut up and fight!"

It was then that Priscilla stopped grinning, and started to fix Clare in the eyes. Priscilla's stare was penetrating. The fearful being that Clare was in that moment felt subdued, and stopped.

"You felt it just now, little Clare, didn't you? You tried to hide in your berserker rage, to ignore the inevitable. But I am the inevitable and all you should feel is awe and fear. You should bow before me, you should worship me as your god!"

Priscilla attacked, Clare attempted to defend. For every blow she managed to dodge or parry three others were hitting her. She was not feeling much pain, and soon even her feral instincts and self-preservation stopped to sustain her. They were broken, as she was. Everything of her being recognized that soon it would be over and that there was nothing else to do but to accept the end and the oblivion. There was no hope, probably there had never been. The future would just be like that silent hill up North, where seventeen swords tell those passing by that lives faded away in vain.

A few instants after Clare was a disfigured body, with gaping lashes everywhere. She was still standing only by virtue of a sort of abandonment inertia. Her sword was slipping from her left hand and gently touching the ground, harmless.

Her nemesis was now grinning again, looking at her wounds: "It is unlikely, but I need to know if there is anything of you I can use if I absorb you. Go ahead, show me how you regenerate, take your time I will kill you after."

Priscilla then went back to face the other opponents. "I did not forget about you, do not worry, now I will take care of your useless existences."

Clare was immobilized and was watching blood and ichor flowing off her wounds, indifferent. They were healing quite fast, but it did not matter. All her youki and her awakening were sort of sedated, as if bowing, dwarfed before a superior being. Then, she heard the voice again.

"The child I knew had more spirit than you. Do you fight or just commiserate with yourself?"

This time, Clare recognized the voice, and she did not dismiss it. She felt confused, and did not know what to do. She then just closed her eyes and tried to reach out.