"…I cannot linger here any longer. Not as long as my mission remains unfulfilled."
"Indeed. I wish it not, for this smouldering purgatory mars the splendour of your resolve, darling."
"…Dear Luceid, ever shall you remain by my side, as long as the breath within me does not fade. We shall flee from here together, and by the morn, blood will again be spilled, soul leaked upon the ground and lost."
"The blood of the three, the innocent one, the knight, the outcast, the blood of the hopeful, yes, I yearn for it so…"
"You do not desire alone. Come Luceid! Let us dance the last dance! Up the falling staircase, out of the pits of Hell!"
"Through hope and courage, through love and death. Let desire forge a blade of conviction, smelted in unbridled passion! My love! Take to your wings and leap!"
xxx
Poke.
"…"
Poke. Poke.
"..."
Clive made a noise of protest, and rolled over, one leg dangling precariously off his seat. He threatened to fall onto the floor if he was not careful.
"U-hoo… Clive…" Virginia prodded him again, with less than satisfactory results. They had arrived at their destination, and if they didn't hurry, they would end up in a place they didn't want to be. Their last task was to wake the comatose drifter whose light nap had become a deep snooze. Seeing no other option, Virginia pinched Clive gently on the cheek, bringing the man around readily enough.
Clive rubbed his reddened cheek tenderly, blinking sleep out of his eyes. "Wh… What was that for?" He yawned.
"Good evening," Said Virginia, "Time to get up. We're here." Clive looked out the window, the yellowed and peeling sign of Westwood station meeting his eye.
He suddenly remembered where he was. "I accidentally… fell asleep? Oh my, that has not happened for quite some time…." He yawned again, getting up from his makeshift bed. Without warning, an appalling feeling of nausea overtook him and he had to lean against the wall to continue standing up. He felt like he would throw up, but not having eaten anything for so long disallowed him to do so.
"Uh-oh." Virginia shook Clive's side sensitively. "Has it gotten worse? Can you stand?"
"…Yes," Replied Clive through slight gasping, "And yes…" With an incredible amount of effort, he stood without aid, definitely the worse for wear.
"Wait here, I'll go get help." She raced out of the cabin, returning soon after with Gallows trailing behind her. The big Baskar started when he saw Clive, rushing over to him and grabbing his good arm for support.
Gallows's eyes widened in shock as an invisible and indescribable current of energy passed from Clive's body to his own, circulating once through his aura and re-entering the sickened drifter. He almost let go from surprise.
Gallows was a Baskar, what everybody knew from common knowledge, but as part of the priesthood bloodline, he had abilities, though dimmed from his lack of studying, that showed him more than what his senses could provide. Shane's skill was a hundred bazillion times stronger than his own, but nevertheless, it existed. Baskars are taught the concept of aura from birth, the energy signature that exists within everything that lives on Filgaia, better known as the personal spirit that manipulates ARMs to the whim of the user. Aura was very nearly the materialisation of individual soul. And, much to Gallows's horror, Clive's aura was decaying.
"Let's get him outside." Said Gallows, dumbstruck. An injury was an injury, but this… How could he be wounded so badly? And even so, it was only a bite. Gallows crossed Clive's arm across his broad shoulder, allowing the sniper to use him like a crutch. They limped him out of the train and onto the platform, laying him down on the ground so he could rest. The priest placed a hand on the marksman's forehead, it was burning up.
Jet jogged over to the three, having been busy delaying the train's departure so they could leave. "Holy shit! What did I miss?" He exclaimed, watching Clive struggle to breathe. Virginia grabbed the boy's hand in fear, and Jet did not resist, for he was a little fearful himself.
Gallows tore his travelling bag off his back, rifling around for something that would help, or at least, ease Clive's suffering. "Here!" He proclaimed, finding a slightly bruised, but still valuable revive fruit. "I have this! Clive, you must eat this for me."
"No." He rasped hoarsely, "I can't."
"Dammit! I don't care whether you want to or not, you have to!" Barked Gallows, placing the fruit in Clive's good hand.
Clive merely repeated himself. "No. I can't." He tried to sit up, but failed miserably. "But I can…" He raised a hand weakly, reaching out to touch the priest. Unsure of what he wanted, Gallows extended his own hand, making contact with Clive's.
"What the..?" He muttered, amazed, as a deep red glow radiated from Clive's hand, engulfing the Baskar's own.
"Life drain…" Breathed Clive, invoking his medium and letting the spell take it's effect. Gallows experienced a strong hazing sensation, his energy connected by a temporary rayline from his own aura to Clive's. Strength was sucked away, ounce by ounce, until both souls had equalised their value. Gallows felt like a golem had just landed on him, while Clive was able to sit up and look around, disorientated.
"Whu-ah-wa-wa-wah?" The Baskar garbled unintelligibly, still dazed by the energy transferral.
"Where am I?" Coughed Clive, still on the borderline between hallucination and consciousness. "This is not purgatory… Where is my blade?" He demanded, sinking back down on the platform.
Jet knelt down, grabbed Clive by the coat collar, and dealt him one sharp slap, trying to bring the drifter out of his delirium. Gallows found his hold on the physical world again and took a big bite out of the revive fruit, replenishing his stolen stamina. "Hu-hah-wa-wah." He said, still making no sense, but coming back to his wits.
Clive's eyes refocused, meeting with Jet's lavender ones. His face twisted into a mask of malignancy, usually friendly blue eyes frosting over to a hardened icy steel. Nobody moved for a few moments, the drifters locked into a grievous staring contest. Gradually, Clive's hand moved up to rest as delicately as possible on Jet's forearm, prompting the boy to lose the tension in that limb. Upon doing this, the tiniest and most untraceable smirk appeared on Clive's lips, it's presence corrupting. He made one utterance, but it was spoken so quietly that nobody noticed. "Humans." He spat, gaze blackening.
Everything that happened afterwards went so fast that it was hard to keep track of what had actually transpired. Jet suddenly had the heel of Clive's tough boot slammed into his chest, knocking the wind out of him and sending him reeling onto the floor. But, Clive still had a hold of Jet's arm, and as the green-haired man threw himself to his feet, he dragged his hostage up with him, angling behind the boy and firmly twisting his gun arm to an incredibly painful degree. "Uurgh! The hell?! What the fuck are you doin', Clive?!" Jet roared, struggling to get free. Jet was a very strong person, but by age difference, Clive had the muscular advantage.
Clive didn't seem to answer to his name. He looked down at Virginia, shocked beyond words at the violent display the sniper was putting on, regarding her as if this was the first time they had met. As payment for Jet's insolence, Clive increased the strain on Jet's arm, the boy having to square his jaw to keep himself from crying out in pain. Virginia was simply too surprised to even think about drawing her ARMs, and she just stood there, gaping.
Thankfully, someone else did. The butt of a modified Coyote ARM was brought down sharply on the back of Clive's head, knocking Jet free and Clive out, the latter falling into a crumpled heap. Gallows had snuck up behind Clive, and dealt him a whopping great blow, sending him back into unconsciousness.
Jet shook the tension out of his arm, the joint sore from the pressure. Clive was face down on the platform, still. Jet rolled him over, meeting no outward resistance. He pressed two fingers to Clive's neck, searching for a pulse. It was strong and insistent, the drifter would be fine. "What the hell did you do?" Jet demanded of the Baskar.
Gallows tapped into his unborn talent, extending a regenerative Arcana over both Clive and himself, remaining weakened from the sniper's spell. "Pressure points," Replied Gallows as the healing light was absorbed into his body, "It's in my people's teachings. You just have to know what part to hit."
Rick, the ticket vendor of Westwood station, ran up to them, wanting to know what all the ruckus was about. He was met with one fainted drifter, a tired and panting priest, a girl stunned into silence and a stoic young man. "Hey! No fighting in the station! Do it outside, if you absolutely must."
Virginia finally came out of her state of shock, shaking disbelief out of her head. Clive had… just attacked them. Gathering composure, she addressed the vendor, forcing a smile, one that was completely phoney. "We're not fighting," She told him, "Our friend here is a little sick. We are taking him to Claiborne for treatment." It was the half-truth, but perhaps soon it would be entirely true. Virginia had been concerned before about her friend, but now this was the first time she was actually afraid for him.
"Okay…" Rick moved away from the exit, giving them room to leave. "Claiborne's not too far, but you won't get there tonight, it's too late for that."
"Right. Jet, you take that arm… and I'll take this one, good." Gallows heaved the unconscious drifter up, leaning his weight onto one side of his body. Jet carefully grabbed his other arm, equally dividing his weight between the two men. It looked like Virginia wanted to help, but all she could do was lead them out of the station, onto the green picturesque fields of Westwood.
"Why?" Virginia implored out loud, "Why did he try and hurt us?" She swiftly understood what Jet had been talking about earlier in the day. Now, even she could sense it. It was like… like it was Clive, but at the same time, it wasn't.
"Don't panic over it," Said Gallows in a betrayal of his thoughts, "I think he was hallucinating, or something. It happens to some people during illness." He tried to explain away what had happened, but found his explanation as fake as Virginia's previous smile.
Virginia summoned the horses, and as expected, only three of them managed to turn up, Clive's horse still staying clear away from him. As she hoisted herself onto Stybba, she said; "Rick's right, the town is too far away. Let's just ride until we find a good spot and set up camp."
Jet helped Gallows push Clive up onto Mearas's saddle, not an easy task considering Clive weighed as much as a middle-aged man, and Mearas protested his new cargo as much as he could. They eventually figured it out and Gallows climbed aboard his mount, Jet doing the same to Arod. Without travelling at the leisurely pace as they always did, the three steeds raced off into the night, made even darker by the overcast sky above them. Hooves thundered against the verdant turf, greenery made grey by the night. Not even a star graced their presence with comfort, such feelings were absent in their company.
Clive coughed once in his feeble unnatural sleep, pale and sickened. He shuddered as if he was trying to awaken, but all he could do was sob out one word;
"…L-Luceid."