A/N: Wellp, I apologize for the wait; as I've said before, college can be a drag sometimes. But hang in there, my friends. I'll get to my other stories (as well as this one) as time permits.

"Geh!" came the involuntary sound as nearly all the air rushed from Raki's lungs when he slammed into the ground. It was turning out that, despite his prior beliefs about Claymores, the true light of those animals had become more and more apparent as his training (if it could be called that) had commenced in earnest following the operation. He had been both mortified and disgusted at the same time at the procedure, even more so when he was told different results during his recovery than were given beforehand. He was told beforehand that aside from the typical elements of the operation, his heart would be supplemented by a second so as to grreatly reduce the chances of Awakening. Instead, the flesh and blood were not exactly yoma, and the only heart that beat within was not his, and was neither human nor yoma. This Organization was sick on many levels, and upon finding out the unmatching results, he lost all threads of respect that had yet existed for it. At the same time, however, he gained a new level of respect for the Claymores (which he had been instructed not to refer to them as; whether or not he cared about that was another issue). They endured pain and hardship that none could possibly fathom. At the same time, however, Raki was fed up with all the hazing, pretended flirting, and mocking, and therefore lost nearly all respect for them. His anger and frustration only mounted during his training sessions with Anabelle; she treated him with little more respect than a wild dog, further crumbling his morale. At the very least, the stints the other ranks pulled were not so brutally abusive in their tormenting. So it was when she had knocked him to the dust, his rage mounted and he swore under his breath that one of those days he would make her pay. He was only one rank lower than she, after all.

To her, though, being third in the Organization apparently put herself in a position that made his rank seem mediocre at best, in comparison. She knew he hated the beating of the weak, and played on that. Preyed was more like it. She knew that at this point, she was superior. How he hated her, and she could see that, could read him like a book. A wicked smile crossed her fair face. That look was in her as she stared arrogantly down her nose at him. "Your anger gives you power, kid, but it's not always going to save you. There's something more inside of you than just base human emotions. I'm going to bring it out. Now get up!" She kicked him hard in the ribs, and he gasped again, pain ripping through his side like a torrential wave of acid. She about kicked him once more, metal-shod foot nearly making contact. However, the self-same set of inhuman reflexes that both frightened and amazed him at the once seemed to override everything else, monopolize his body, numb his mind, and take full and absolute control. It was as if some demonic, ethereal force, externally present, was now at the helm of his movements. Just as Anabelle's foot about collided again, those devilishly fast reflexes were triggered, and he found himself rolling to his left without quite knowing it followed a mighty leap to his feet, all in one motion that transpired within less than a moment. Brandishing his claymore once again, that which now seemingly possessed his body made calculations of each step and each motion of Anabelle's body, piecing all together into one whole that resulted in a defensive pattern against her oncoming attacks. Skill beyond his doing, he then weaved into it a series of offensive techniques that threw Anabelle off, causing her to rock back on her heels. That look of shocked delight—that one which often accompanied his use of whatever force now guided his movements—adorned her face all the while. The offensive continued without relent. Surprising to both combatants was the rather prolonged duration of Raki's reflexes and movements, which up to that point had only revealed themselves in momentary, sprint-like bursts. So intense and aggressive was this onslaught that Anabelle became somewhat disoriented and confused, lost both focus and footing. So fast were his stokes that within those minutely passing moments, Anabelle's own claymore was knocked careening from her hands where it stabbed the dirt some distance away. In yet another furious offensive, Raki executed a 360 degree wheel-kick which connected forcefully with Anabelle's left cheek. As intended, she was forced into the air and spun wildly to her right before landing hard on her face. Before she could even blink, sharp, cold steel (a sword blade) brushed against her neck. Blood trickled from her mouth.

"Yield," Raki hissed, daring her to move. Instead, she smiled...almost sweetly. Awarding him a sultry glance, she spoke in near-adoration, saying, "Well done, kid." Risking it, she rose and received no resistance or further threat. "Or should I say...Dragonheart." Raising his claymore to the ready, he edged back as she approached deliberately. "I won't hurt you anymore," she cooed. As she did, Raki felt his hands loosen on the claymore. It dropped, then, useless as his disobedient limbs, now being manipulated by Anabelle's keen ability to control yoki. Mere inches from his face, her eyes half shut, she whispered, "I won't hurt you, because..." her lips were almost against his by that time, "...because, even as a 'heatless witch,' as you've called me before, I have a very human heart that beats..." Leaning in, the remaining distance closing, her lips met his. Awkward was likely the best word. Awkward and unfeeling, both. Her kissing held no love, no endearing quality. She was merely pleasuring herself, desiring that he join in, wanting him, lusting after him. He did not, however, reciprocate her feelings. Parting, she again whispered, "One day, you will forget that little broad and love me instead. She will die anyway, either from fighting or pining over you, it's inevitable. With me, you have...home. With her, you had uncertainty." She stroked his face as the effects of the earlier surge of power wore off. To his disgust and dismay, his spine tingled from the sensation. Was she causing it to happen, or was he just...? The touch lingered as she backed away from him until his face was out of reach, yet still she seemed to reach for it a moment, then let her hand drop. The look of adoration faded. The drill sergeant returned. "Now go get washed up; you stink of dragon! You didn't win, kid. You will never win, not while I'm around. Now move it!"

Replacing his claymore somewhat slowly, Raki walked briskly past her toward his quarters. Says you, bitch. I'll never love a monster... He stopped in his tracks. What was he thinking? First off, he, Anabelle, and Clare were no different in that they all were hybrids. To him, though, Clare was not a monster. To him, Clare was more than human or yoma. The woman that desired him now was no more than a tasteless whore. But then, how different was he from any of them? Sure, he was not exactly half-yoma, but he wasn't about to give in to the brainwashing and reeducation the Organization was putting him through. Not in a million years. He needed to escape. Soon. Returning once more to his quarters, he washed himself, and dressed in a new uniform. He did so somewhat quickly; he would not be caught nude by that hell-witch. Clare was on his mind. What would she think if they reunited? What would happen if she became upset and terminated what fragile feelings they had previously shared? Who knew. There was only one way to find out. He would need to either get out, or somehow trick the Organization into thinking that he was, indeed, on their side. Then he would break away, and hasten to where he truly belonged. That Varth fellow had promised him amnesty, but had yet to fulfill that. How much longer would he need to endure that? Not that it mattered, really. At this point, his only aim was to survive.

Days turned into weeks, weeks to months. There was no letup in the intensity of his training, however as time drew on, he noted that his strength and agility had increased significantly. The use of his power was not as draining, and could be used for longer durations of time. Anabelle was finding it harder and harder to keep up with him; her only trump card against him was her ability to control yoki. He also noted that even though his own aura was not exavtly yoma, the properties thereof were similar, thus enabling Anabelle to control it, though with significatly more effort than normal. Nonetheless, every time Raki gained the upper hand, he was thwarted. His frustration only increased as time drew on. However, strangely enough, he found himself becoming less and less incensed by her taunting and the mockery of the other ranks. As time drew on, he began to realize that he was feeling...less. His mind and heart were becoming more numb to things that would otherwise have set him off. The anger that Anabelle had before said gave him power gradually gave way to a intimidating calm. The hazing, mocking, and harassing gradually gave way to hushed words, silent respect of space and position, and even a bit of admiration. An air of commandment floated about him as the female warriors parted or moved dutifully out of the path of what would seem to some the "alpha male." Time drew on, and he found himself somewhat at ease with this new found respect.

In due time, Raki's rank was made official, and his training deemed complete. He stood before the council, Varth at the center thereof, and awaited his first assignment. The elders were deathly silent in their thoughts. Varth was first to speak. The jovial nature that he normlly projected was absent, his face a mask of stark seriousness. The silence that pervaded within the walls of the audience chamber was deafening, a weight that bore down with awkwardness heavy enough to crush a man. At length, though, Varth spoke, saying, "You have trained with us for six months. All that we have to teach has been taught, but you are far from complete. You are Fourth in this Organization, and will remain so until the higher ranks are opened. The flesh, blood, and heart of a dragon have now become very much a part of you. Embrace it, accept it, for you must think and feel as your foes din order to fight them. To you is given the greater honor than any warrior that here exists: to fight against and annihalate the dragons and their kin on the mainland. You, Raki, are the culmination of centuries of trial and error. Your success in this war will turn the tide in our favor. You will embark on the voyage to the mainland within two weeks. Will you be prepared within that time frame?"

Raki nodded. "I will."

Varth nodded back, a gesture of approval. "Have you any further questions?"

"Yes: what was the intent of the Organization in falsifying the information regarding the operation?" His bold inquiry caused many of the elders to murmur amongst each other. Varth's usual personality seemed to return as he spoke. "It's the same as what information we reveal to the public: we wouldn't want them to go mad with fear. In your case, we didn't wish to drive you away, but bring you in. Your success will determine whether mankind will stay at war, or if they will fall. You, Raki, are our crowning achievement, and of yourself have gained experience beyond any human or hybrid that now exists. Be proud of yourself, lad. You will go far yet."

Raki nodded and saluted. With a return salute, Varth dismissed him. Two weeks, then I fight dragons... Since when has that been intended? How long have these bastards been at it? His unanswered questions would have to wait. At the present moment, he was under obligation. On his way out, he passed Anabelle, who had accompanied him. Leaning against the far wall, she seemed deep in thought. She was, however, not unaware of his presence.

"You're leaving. Aren't you?" Was it him, or did her voice carry with it a hint of despeation? Raki came to a stop as she continued. Her eyes were squeezed shut. "You are going to the mainland, aren't you? It's just as I feared. They perfect one of us, and before we can blink, they're gone. Why don't you refute their orders, question their motives?"

"For the same reason you don't. Why have you come?" He gave her no more than a glance over the shoulder at that.

That seemed to shock her. Her head snapped up, and her eyes flew wide. She gazed at him for several moments before speaking in a hushed voice, suddenly become vulnerable. "Don't you know...?"

Raki then felt a sudden pang of pity for her. Here she was, a Claymore, desiring to love as humans do (and not knowing how) - desiring his love - now attempting to confess her feelings to him. She was in danger of heartbreaking rejection. The moment passed, however, and he did not hesitate to respond. "Anabelle, it's a shadow and a thought that you love. I can't give to you what you seek; my heart lies in the hands of another." With that, he regained his tread, and left her there to contemplate his words.

Tears welled up in her silver eyes, and she suppressed a sob, those eyes squeezed shut, a pained grimace on her fair face. She pounded the wall behind her repeatedly, as one sob after another wracked her body. Soon, though, those tears ran hot with rage. Raising her head slowly, she let open her eyes once more. "Then you've signed your lover's death!" she swore, a wrathful oath to be fulfilled by any means. This Clare would meet her end in a most torturous way, then she would compel Raki's love until he gave it to her willingly. A grin of utmost malice spread across her face; bereft of human emotion, she was justified in her actions to regain but a portion. This Clare girl would suffer as none had ever. Thus, were the dark-spawned plans of spite set in motion. The worst part was that there could nothing resist it...