A/N: Insert usual disclaimer stuff here. This is the sequel to Penance and Pursuit of Merit.

Again, I went back and chopped this fic up into chapters. If you want to read the thing straight through, with no chapter divisions, just head on over to my site, Because I chopped it up, some of the chapter transitions may be strange. Sorry about that.

Reviews are always welcome and encouraged!


Xellos groaned as he came to, his astral form cut nearly to ribbons. Curling up into a ball, he shivered on the stone slab where he had spent the past several months of his existence, cold and naked. The things she had done to him, the things his mistress had done to him. She hadn't wanted to, he could sense that, but she had bequeathed her power temporarily to some underlings, and they had been more than happy to turn his life into a living hell. They had tormented him physically for a very long time, and still he had fought them. They attacked his astral body repeatedly, and still he had fought them. Then they realized the source of his rebelliousness, and in doing so they had broken him. "You're tainted, Master Priest," they had whispered, and he had known it for the truth.

The only way they had tried to cure him was to cut away pieces of him, reshaping them and reattaching them. They needed to destroy the human soul that so tenaciously clung to his astral body. The underlings tried and tried again, and finally Xellas had intervened. "I don't want him dead," she had snapped to her servants, and had attempted herself to rid him of the human aspects grafted to his soul. "Soiled, just like Gaav," she had finally pronounced with a sigh, tenderly running her long, tan fingers through his sweat-matted hair. "My poor pup."

"Mistress," Xellos had moaned, mind reeling from his extended punishment. It seemed that he and his pain were one. He had no body, no form, only pain for limbs and skin. Barely even aware that he still lived, his groggy state remained unchanged from one day to the next as he was worked upon.

"If we cannot remove the him from the human, we must make sure he has no reason to act upon that humanity ever again," Xellas decreed, and left the chamber.

The underlings had transported him them to a different place, one he didn't recognize, and set him free. He didn't know where he was or what he was doing there. The only thing he was sure of was that he seemed to be in some sort of structure, and he was wandering its hallways. "Hello?" he had called, stumbling through the corridors, a hand on the wall to steady himself. At least someone had thought to dress him partially, and he plucked at the fabric, wondering what was happening. Was this his new prison? Had his mistress locked him away? He stopped for a moment, leaning against the cold wall as he felt his limbs quiver with exhaustion. His nose and ears, with his heightened Monster senses, detected nothing but stone and dampness. Clutching his own bare shoulders with clammy palms he stumbled toward the distant sound of water. Where was this place? He had only arrived a few moments ago, and he wondered what sort of punishment lay in store for him. For a second he wished that he had never become human, that there was some way to burn the human taint from his Monster's soul, but then the memory of Lina's soft lips on his throat, or the sound of her joyful laugh as they walked together among the trees would surface in his mind, and it took every ounce of will he could muster not to drop to his knees right there in the corridor and surrender to despair.

As he trudged along the passageways, always working his way toward the sound of water, he had time to reflect upon many things. He shivered constantly while traveling the dark, wet hallways, wondering why he could feel the cold at all. He had never experienced acute physical heat or cold when he was a Monster, only as a human. Yet he was not human at the moment, of that he was certain. It had not taken him long to realize that although his powers had somehow been sealed away he was still a Monster. He had tried to teleport several times and failed. His punishers must have sealed away a large portion of his astral power, since he was incapable of summoning his staff or clothing, nor could he utilize any magic at all. The power was there, though, hovering at the edge of his senses, and his sight, olfaction, and auditory abilities were far sharper than they had been as a human. Emotions surged just out of his reach, and he knew that the human part of him that his mistress had created was still there, sucking at his soul like a leech. He wondered what sort of punishment the underlings had in store for him.

Just as he thought of them, several appeared before him in the passageway, dark forms constantly changing as his eyes tried to focus on them. "How do you like your new home?" one asked softly, an orange eye rolling to the surface and fixing upon him.

"The decor is sadly lacking," he replied dryly, fingers digging into his own ribs as he clutched himself against the chill of the place.

The creatures chuckled dryly in the darkness. "The mighty Xellos, the favorite of the mistress, has finally fallen," another said. "Taste failure, and remember. It is all you will ever taste again."

"Is it your intent to starve me, then?" Xellos said, narrowing his eyes and leaning a shoulder against the damp stone wall. "Do you plan on slowly draining me of power?"

Again there was laughter. "No, you are too strong to starve simply because you can't feed on negative human emotions," yet another replied. "Starvation would be too easy for you."

"Besides, the Mistress wants you alive. You must be rehabilitated."

"You mean broken," Xellos said flatly.

"Something like that. You must not be allowed to stray any farther."

"I cannot let you do that," Xellos said, his features twisting in defiance as he summoned his power to him and released it at the underlings. . . Nothing happened.

The soft chuckles of the shapless masses in front of him turned into raucous laughter. "Now how does it feel, General Priest? How does it feel to be powerless, to fear those stronger than you?"

"You," Xellos said quietly, voice not betraying the slow fear growing within him.

"We're mighter than you, now," one of the shapes said. "We can do what we like with you."

"Perhaps now, but not forever," Xellos replied. "The Mistress will want me returned to her whole."

A hiss rose from the group, and he only had time for a single gasp as they came at him. He cried aloud as their claws tore at him, forcing him to the slippery stones. Sharp talons dug into his shoulders and pressed him to the floor while other limbs pummeled him. "Fools! You'll have to do better than this!" Xellos shouted, lashing out blindly with his limbs. His strength immediately deserted him, spirited away by the underlings, and he could only grunt as he was beaten. Blood ran down to the ground from his shoulders, the fluid a thick, greasy black- Monster's blood.

"We will do better, Master Xellos," one said triumphantly as they became bored with beating him. "Just wait."

"The Mistress has lent us her power. We shall make good use of it."

"Give up your humanity now and you will be spared."

Xellos panted, feeling his body already beginning to heal. "I would if I could," he grated, but knew the words for a lie the moment they passed his lips. Before the winter, before the cabin and Lina, he would have meant them with all his black heart. However, as he lay in the sticky pool of his own blood, he wasn't certain. His time with the human sorceress had meant something to him, still meant something to him, and he wasn't sure how to deal with that. Nothing had ever actually meant anything to him before. Existence certainly hadn't mattered, only the destruction of existence, and even that was simply a default characteristic of the Monster race. Despite losing most of his emotions upon returning to Monster form, Lina was still precious to him. He cursed his weakness and longed for it simultaneously, wishing he had the strength to kill her and rid himself of the taint, but yearning to be able to hold her again, to feel her smile against his cheek and her body wrapped around his as she whispered to him her dreams.

"We will be certain that you can," one of the underlings replied, and they all disappeared.

He groaned and sat up, skin feeling frozen as he moved. The temperature was becoming unbearable, as was his frustration at even being aware of the cold. They were planning something, but he had no idea what it was. That bothered him as well; he was used to knowing every little thing that happened within his Mistress' domain. His slitted pupils carefully surveyed his surroundings as he pulled himself up to standing, eyes darting in every direction. It was becoming obvious that he was in a place of the underlings' construction and therefore had to be on his guard every single moment. The entire place had been created for the sole purpose of harming him, and he had to be sure to keep that in mind.

At least the underlings didn't have a conception of physical hunger or thirst, he thought, otherwise he would most likely have been feeling both. By his calculations he had been wandering the tunnels for roughly eighty hours, and he was marginally closer to the sound of rushing water. The darkness of the tunnels didn't bother him in the least, being the Monster he was and used to travelling the subterannean passages his Mistress seemed to fancy, but the damp and cold were beginning to wear on him. He had never been aware of such sensations, not really, until he had become human, and he paused for a moment to wonder if the underlings, being the lesser Monsters that they were and therefore closer to beasts and mortals than he, felt the effects of temperature upon their bodies. They must, he decided, for it was definitely having an effect on him. It seemed as if he was constantly wiping moisture from his bare chest and shoulders, smoothing droplets from his hair. The dampness was not pleasant in the least. The last time he had been aware of being wet he was with Lina on the last leg of their trip, seeing her smile flash in the moonlight as they bathed together. Her name left his lips unbidden, the sound barely even a whisper, and his fist clenched against the stone surrounding him. Damn her, damn her to the deepest depths of Phibrizzo's realm. She had changed him somehow, and he wasn't certain he liked it. He, who had once been impervious, now had a weakness. That damn human woman had done something to him, and with desperate agony he realized that he would never be able to change back.

She didn't want him now, that was for certain. He felt it through the ring when he rushed to be at her side, frenzied by the pain that poured from her and into him through the ring's magic. He fought to be near her, he wanted to help her, and she had spurned him. Lina no longer wanted him. A small, bitter smile twisted his lips. The irony of the situation did not escape him. He, the Monster, wanted to be with the human, and yet the human, who actually possessed real emotions, did not want him.

It seemed like days before he finally reached the source of the sound of rushing water, looking down into the violently churning black water. The chill in the air was even worse here, and he wondered if he shouldn't have gone the other direction. With a sigh he realized it didn't matter in the least. His experiences were being controlled one way or the other. This was, after all, a punishment for disobeying his mistress and going to Lina's side. There was nothing he could do but wait it out.

Kneeling, he peered down into the water, barely able to make out his reflection in the dimness of the cavern. He extended an arm and disrupted the image with his index finger, not wanting to see the haggard look on his face. Just then he heard a noise behind him, the noise of something large moving through the system of caves, and he stood quickly, slipping on the rocks of the riverbank as he did so. A short, surprised cry left his throat and he desperately pulled on his magic to steady himself, but no magic came. His arms failed about in the air for a moment more, then he fell backwards into the icy, black river.

He surfaced with a splutter, clenching his teeth against the aching cold of the water, splashing about as he tried to stay afloat. He couldn't seem to keep his head above the rough water, constantly going under. The temperature of the water was far too low for him to bear, and cold numbness began to steal through his limbs, making them heavy. It was fortunate that he didn't actually need to breathe, for after a few moments he went under completely, bouncing off of the sharp rocks on the bottom of the river as the current carried him along. His struggles were useless; his strength was nearly completely drained. Suddenly he was launched into the air, a shout of fear ripping from his chest as he rocketed out into empty space, the water falling away beneath him. He had been swept right over the edge of a waterfall. The wind sped past his wet skin and he attempted to twist into a diving position, but it was too late. His skin had just enough feeling left in it that it hurt tremendously when he hit the surface of the water with a loud smack. He was plunged into the water once again, but before he could push his way back to the air he slipped away into darkness.

There was no telling how long he had walked, or how long they had kept him in this place. When he had awoken from his trip over the waterfall, he had found himself lying on the riverbank, covered in three feet of snow. He had wandered through frozen wastelands, climbed mountains, and crossed sheets of ice, all in order to try to find a way out. It was starting to concern him that he only was being confronted with physical hardship. Although he was miserable and cold, he really hadn't been caused much pain. The worst part, actually, was being so alone. It was almost amusing, his loneliness, since he had spent thousands of years working alone and had never thought twice about it. Now, however, he would have been very happy to have someone to talk to or torment. He supposed it was just another change the damned mortal woman had worked upon him.

After a while he encountered a blizzard. Snow whirled around his head and he raised his bare arms, squinting into the wind. Hugging the mountain for shelter, he began to walk along, searching for a place to wait out the storm. Something caught his attention and he froze, straining his senses to uncover some sort of further clue. There was nothing. . .Wait, there it was again, a dark shape out of the corner of his eye. Yes, there was another one! He backed up against the mountiainside, trying to call magic and once again failing. A scream left his throat as a steel rod about two inches in diameter pierced his shoulder, pinning him to the rock. Panting in pain, he reached up with his good arm and curled his fist around the stake, trying in vain to pull it out. Dammit, if he just had his magic!

"Time to move on," something whispered as an identical metal rod was driven into his other shoulder, then stars exploded in his vision and he knew no more.

He woke up in an indentical position, the stakes still piercing his shoulders and pinning him, but instead of the intense cold he was faced with blistering heat. He groaned and lifted a hand, his grip on the metal rod slippery with his Monster's black blood. Wincing, he glanced up at the cloudless sky, withering in the pitiless sun. A gasp left his throat as he tried to pull the stake from his shoulder, the metal hot against his skin. His parched lips moved soundlessly as he looked about, the land around him distorted from the heat radiating from the ground. The entire surface of his skin seemed stretched too tightly, as if it would split at any time, and he closed his eyes as a breeze stirred up sand. When the wind had passed, he opened his eyes and was finally able to see his surroundings. It appeared he was staked to a rather large rock in the middle of a desert.

Pain rocketed through his system as squirmed, trying to work himself free. Dammit, he hated when his physical body was assulted. It was very uncomfortable, and he found himself weakened considerably. After trying once again, and unsuccessfully, to pull the rods from his shoulders, he realized his only option was to try and slide off the other end of the rods. The metal stakes did not have barbs or fletching of any kind, just a solid shaft of smooth metal. Grunting against the agony that shot through his limbs he planted his bare feet against the hot rock behind him and pushed with all his might. He felt his physical body tear with the friction between his flesh and the metal, but still he pushed. It took him several minutes, but he eventually was able to set himself free, falling several feet to land in the sand, crumpled. He closed his eyes and let his cheek rest in the sand, his breath stirring up dust as he panted against the ground. "Damn it," he whispered to himself, and slowly pushed himself upright.

When the throbbing in his shoulders began to lessen, the wounds healing themselves rapidly, his vision clearned enough to ascertain his surroundings. Twisting, he looked at the place he had been pinned to the rock. The surface of the boulder was stained with his oily black blood, the drying liquid shining dully in the unrelenting sunlight. He brought a blistered hand up to his shoulder and fingered the wound gingerly, wincing as pain shot through his limb and chest. A look of cold determination settled on his face as he glared off into the endless wasteland, his hand still on his shoulder. They would pay for this. He would hunt every single one of those bastard underlings down and end them.

He sighed and stood up, squinting into the bright sunlight. Turning in a full circle, he realized he still had no idea where he was or where he was supposed to be going. Anger welled up inside of him, anger he should not have felt if he was a full Monster. He glanced at his wounds and realized they were almost completely healed, his physical body catching up with the condition of his astral one. Closing his eyes, he felt for his astral form. It seemed more or less whole, but oddly disconnected to him. His power was still blocked from him.

Not knowing what else to do, he set out wandering. He seriously doubted that even beings as unskilled as the underlings would have allowed him to find away out of this place they created for him, but he would search nonetheless. A frown crossed his face as he trudged forward, the sand searing the bottoms of his bare feet, wondering what possible lesson he was supposed to learn from the trials the underlings had put him through. As a Monster he could feel neither hunger nor thirst, which in his opinion were two of the most awful physical sensations of humanity. The heat and cold were certainly unpleasant, and drained his physical strength considerably, but he wouldn't call it torture. He would call being ripped away from Lina torture, or when he was first turned into a human. That had truly been torture. He still wasn't certain sometimes that he would have pulled through, finally coming to terms with the awful death creeping through the cells of his body, if Lina hadn't been there. Where was she now, he wondered, his beautiful, mortal Lina?