Claiborne. A tiny little hamlet nestled by the side of a wide green ocean, it was not a very rambunctious town, the peak of it's lively activities was when Otto, the ARMsmith, would sporadically fire a few vertical shots into the air to test the functionality of a customer's weapon. A few trees spired up near the wooden buildings, old and sturdy. They had been there for a long time. The houses had come later, as a long time ago the entirety of Westwood used to be one giant forest. Only the lost sediments remained to see the new environment, next to the humans that treasured their company. Claiborne was a town known for their high-quality cattle and livestock, the surrounding turf excellent to raise a hearty herd of beasts. It was also a quiet place, secluded from the gunslinging hubbub of the drifter world and their exciting exploits. For a person seeking peace, Claiborne was heaven on earth.

But not today.

Clive was the first to sense the disturbance, but knew not where the sensation had come from, manifesting itself as a gut feeling that he was walking into a mess he didn't want to step his feet in. There were other subtle indicators that merely augmented this feeling, common knowledge explaining to him an overlooked fact. Claiborne was a livestock breeding town, so where were the animals? The plains they walked upon were as empty and quiet as a graveyard. Not a dot or shadow far off in the distance resembled any horses or cows. Nothing at all.

The other three eventually came to the same question, although it was not spoken among them and kept to themselves, they all wondered why they were so alone. Farmers certainly wouldn't just leave their stock in the barn on such a beautiful day. Something was up.

Whistling a fiercely aggravating tune, Gallows sauntered into the town, exaggerating the swing of his arms and pretending to march like a soldier. He whirled around and faced Virginia, bowing with embroidered reverence. "I have completed my mission and contacted home base, my wonderful and sparkly leader. May I please go and soak my feet now?" He grinned, taking his shoes off was the most important thing on his mind at the moment. Walking everywhere really hurt his poor little feet.

"Go soak your head." Muttered Jet under his breath. Clive caught what he said and tried not to snicker. Gallows faked an indignant expression, redirecting his bow to the silver-haired boy.

"Yes, your assholiness! I shall go do that this instant!" And he ran to the Horse Theft Inn, leaving a peeved Jet behind. Virginia giggled, lightly patting Jet on the back before she followed the Baskar to their destination.

Clive looked around the town with a discomforting sensation. It had been a few months since he last visited this place, but he had the feeling that it was much, much shorter than that. Maybe, he had a dream? He was unsure. "Jet? Do you sometimes experience a sense of déjà vu?" Clive asked, then immediately realised how tactless his question was. He instantly regretted having opened his mouth.

Jet glared at him like he had just been insulted. "I don't have enough memories for that." He grumbled, stomping to the inn.

The sniper moved to adjust his glasses, and realised, with a shock, that he wasn't even wearing his glasses. Clive hadn't even noticed that he was missing them. Surprised, he waved his hand in front of his face and saw everything with perfect clarity. He had 20/20 vision, no, probably even better than that. Nonplussed, he could only begin to speculate the mystery behind this. Usually, he couldn't even see two feet ahead of him without corrective lenses, not since the accident eleven years ago that had-

But that was all in the past now. Had that Baskarian medicine fixed his vision? Clive didn't know, and that lack of knowledge was an unfamiliar element in Clive's psyche, one that he wanted no longer.

The others were leaving him behind, so he picked up his pace and followed them into the building. For some reason, the last thing he desired right now was to be alone.

xxx

Gallows swung open the doors to the inn with a proud confidence, thundering inside, the spurs on his boots clanking, hands spaced apart and near the trigger of his faithful Coyote. Well, he wasn't going to use it, but he had seen how cool it was to enter a saloon this way, and he wanted to try it out for himself.

The effect was lessened somewhat as a high-speed object slammed into his side and grabbed him in a wrestle-lock hug. His first reaction was to pry the thing from off his bare chest, but he noticed the cowboy hat and long red plait and did the opposite. He hugged her back. "Becky! Hey, uh, what's the problem?"

"Gally!" She wailed, pressing herself deeper into his hug. She was sniffing and it looked like she had just finished crying. "It was awful, it was so awful…" She grabbed the side of his jacket and refused to let go.

Whoa. I've heard of clingy women before, but jeez…

"Becky girl, um, did I miss something? What's the matter?" Gallows patted her back soothingly, wondering what was going on. Was it something he had done? Girls always found some way to blame him…

"No, no, sugah. It ain't you, it's me. Ah thought Ah'd die, it was so awful… Mistah Dessinsey, Otto and Mistah Volks… They're…" Becky didn't finish, she started to cry again uncontrollably. Gallows looked over her hat to the other occupants of the tavern, and some of the mystery became clear to him. Mileux and Martina were running around like crazy with bandages and medicines, in and out of the back room, their faces filled with empathy and compassion for the people they were caring for, who littered the tables of the inn, quiet with concealed pain and anticipation of treatment. There must have been about a dozen of them, and all of them were cut and bruised, beaten and torn.

Gallows suddenly thrust Becky away at an arm's length, horrified. "You're not hurt too, are you?!" he demanded, looking her over for injury. Becky shook her head and released herself from his grip, ending her torrent of tears.

"No. Ah'm okay, it was the others that went to fight the beast. Ah was so scared for them, and Ah couldn't do anything to help." Gallows looked blank as she mentioned the beast, so she decided to elaborate on it further. "Ah was sleeping then, but Ah heard about it from Martina, who heard it from Pike. Poor Pike, he ain't nevah gonna be the same…"

From over the din of all the people inhabiting the building, one feeble and lost voice stood out from the rest, a low sobbing mingled with harsh breathing. In the corner of the inn sat a young green-haired boy, his head buried in his arms on the table, muffled weeping radiating from his lips. The sight would play upon the toughest man's heartstrings, it certainly struck a chord from within Gallows, no doubt.

"He said he was working late for Mistah Dessinsey, and when he went to the stables at about midnight, he was attacked by a monster that was nastier than Hell itself." Becky continued, "That's what Ah heard. Dessinsey, Otto and Volks heard the screaming, and went to go see what was wrong." The girl shook her head miserably, "But they nevah came back." She pointed to all the assembled victims in the inn and sniffled. "This is the search party. They all caught a glance at the monster and lived to tell about it, but those three, they're dead."

"Monster?" Virginia and Jet had eavesdropped on the conversation, the two drifters had their hands on the swinging door so no sound was emitted as they came in. They had heard everything. Jet looked over at Pike, the boy seemed closed off to the world. Jet strode over to Pike's table, brow furrowed apathetically.

"Hey kid, you okay?" He received no coherent answer except for a pitiful blubber. Unperturbed, Jet dug his hand underneath the tousled mass of green hair and lifted Pike's head so they could see each other. Pike had deep rings around his reddened eyes and dried-up rivers of tears down his cheeks. Three diagonal slash marks extended from the base of his chin and up his right cheek, the cuts were shallow and had been treated, but it would leave him a nasty scar. An unhealable one to match the mental scars within.

"J-Jet? Ohhhh…" Pike buried his head in his arms again, not wanting to see the world and what it had done to him. "I saw it, I saw it…" Jet looked down, Pike's leg was bound by a bandage lengthening up the entire limb, and it was twisted to an unnatural angle, red stains seeping through the white fabric. A crutch was leaning up against Pike's side, it undeniably had belonged to Volks, and Jet felt the slightest trace of sympathy for the boy. Pike had become a cripple, in all probability he would never be able to walk without aid ever again.

"What did you see?" Jet asked, "What do you remember?"

Pike chuckled brokenly. "Remember? Yes, I remember. It is a memory I would like to forget. It reached me before anybody else, but the other three got me out before it could finish me off. It killed them, and the horses… The bodies are in the stables… Too much blood everywhere…" Pike choked on his words and could not continue. Jet just patted him with silent sympathy and let the boy droop back into his misery. The drifter stepped away as Virginia tried her own form of interrogation.

"The monster, what did it look like?" Virginia's rubbed Pike's back to quieten the boy's sobs. Pike recognised her and nodded, rubbing the cuts on his face. He had a very good photographic memory, and if that could help anyone, he would recall whatever he could.

"It had claws, and teeth, and a tail. I thought it was a big dog, or a wolf or something, but it stood on two feet and it was wearing human clothes. It was scary, Otto managed to fend it off so I could escape, but my leg…" Pike took up Volks's crutch and limped over to Jet, dragging the dead limb behind him. "I guess I can't complain, at least I survived…" His foot caught on the leg of a chair and he tumbled forward, luckily caught by Virginia. He straightened himself up, blushing. "I'm sorry." he apologised.

"A wolf?" Jet said to Virginia before glancing at Gallows. He was sitting at a table and trying to convince Becky to drink something to calm her down. From his pocket he procured the tooth he had taken from the monster the other day, rolling the object in his palm. "You think it could still be alive?"

"Not a wolf," Disagreed Pike despairingly, "It looked like one, but it wasn't a wolf. It was more… human."

Clank. All the heads in the inn were turned to the entrance as the loud rotund echo of a sizeable ARM clattered to the floor, thankfully unloaded, or else it may have hurt somebody. Clive scanned the crowd, filled with pain-stricken faces, and took a step back, shaking his head. "No…" he said as if he was denying something. "No…"

"Clive?" Gallows tilted an eyebrow in confusion, the sniper looked like he had just witnessed a murder. His hand went to massage his shoulder, he was scarcely breathing.

A memory. Glass tinkling. A burning fire. A chair being swung, smashing into his chest. A small ARM fired into the air. A scream. Fearful whinnying. A prayer for it to stop, red oozing down the walls…

"No!" Clive left his Gungnir lying on the ground as he exited the building, turning on his heel to a sharp left and heading for Dessinsey's stables of prize-winning horses. He had heard everything, all of Pike's testimony, and he could remember something, almost, and he feared it, because-

No, it was a dream!

The doors of the stables had been barred by a thick wooden plank, whether to keep people out or to keep something in was unknown, but Clive saw that one of the windows were broken so it wouldn't have helped much anyway. He wrapped both arms around the plank and heaved as hard as he could against the weight, straining. It would have taken at least five men to set this barricade, how could he hope to remove it by himself? But Clive wasn't thinking straight, and so he tried with futility.

It was almost as if a switch had been turned on inside Clive's body, and the effort needed to move the obstacle suddenly decreased by at least ten fold. Wood scraped against wood as the plank was hauled up and tossed aside, no longer a blockage. Clive raised a booted foot and kicked the wooden door in, panting as the strain took it's toll.

Then he paused, hesitating. He didn't want to go in. Because he knew what he'd see, and he was afraid of the truth, it might mean untold pain to everybody he cared about, including himself.

"Yo!" Clive groaned inwardly. Why did they have to follow him? "What the hell is wrong with you?!" Gallows and Virginia's faces mirrored the same sentiment as they approached, standing behind him.

"I'm sorry," Clive sighed, dejected. "But I have to go in. I have to see the truth. I know you probably do not understand, but I must."

Virginia, Gallows and Jet looked at each other. They all came to a silent conclusion, their leader verbalising it for them. "We are behind you every step of the way." She said solemnly.

A fetid stench wafted out of the stables, it was a familiar smell to all of them, it was the smell of death. For Clive it was almost overpowering, all he wanted to do was run away and go somewhere safer. Instead, he forced his hands to stay by his sides, biting his lip and stepping into the horror house that mirrored his inner torment.

xxx

Earlier in the morning, it had taken a joint effort by most of the hale townspeople just to be able to survey the damage and loss of life. It took five tries from five different people to enter the stables before they found a man who didn't become violently ill at the scene, and even so, it was traumatic.

Virginia immediately turned away, grabbing the first thing she saw for solace, namely Jet, who did the only thing that came to mind and put his arms around her, squeezing his eyes shut and cursing profanely. Gallows's mouth hung open in a huge gape, he had seen exploded orcs that looked prettier than this mess.

The walls were splashed red with a sticky, easily identifiable substance that had dripped down the wall and dried there, like a half-finished paint job. A lantern flickered on one of the stalls, surprisingly, it had not been knocked over and continued to burn brightly. Straw was strewn over the floor, and it stuck to the three bodies lying flat on the ground, bent into an abnormal position. They were corpses, half eaten, bone and muscle shaved off the body, huge bite marks scored across the flesh. Unidentifiable and lifeless, they lay there like the centerpiece to a morbid piece of artwork, black and blue from a beating, pale and blotchy from a lack of blood. One of the carcasses was missing an arm, and Gallows spotted it hanging suspended from a hook attached to the wall, the loose fingers dangling and ugly.

The horse stalls were ripped open, and two great lumps were sprawled out of their domiciles, proud stallions sharing this place of death with the humans that had raised them. They lay propped up against their stalls, tongues hanging out of the sides of their mouths, in the particular signature of the monster, their stomachs were split open, yellowed rib bones contrasting with the ebony hair the animals were coated in. Innards slicked the floor with blood and stomach acid, and the fours drifters just stood there, as frozen as stone statues.

Words caught in Clive's throat, they didn't mean anything, and he could not say them. He could feel his own colour drain away from his face, a sinking feeling dragging his very soul back into Hades. He closed his eyes and shook, a million thoughts overloaded his body and he did nothing. Because, because…

Clive remembered everything.

xxx

He could only get a short distance away from the stables before his legs failed him and he fell, hands slapping on the ground to prevent himself from hitting his chin, not that he would have noticed, he was far too afraid. Cold sweat beaded on his face as he took rapid gasping breaths, trembling. Eyes wide open, he immediately knew what was wrong with him, why he could sense so much more, why he was different. The answer was simple, and it echoed through his mind with ambient finality.

He was a monster.

Last night, five honest hard-working men had met their maker under his own direction. He had sentenced five people to death. And not a peaceful death, either. They had screamed, begged, cried for it to stop, even as the life was squeezed or rent out of their bodies. Murderer, that was what he was, a killer. His shaking hands balled into fists, drops of cried tears landing on the back of his hand and sliding down the side. That was not the worst part. The worst part was, the worst part was…

In his recollection, he could not deny the fact that he had enjoyed it. The pain, the change, it was all a matter to be endured until the true purpose of everything could come out. He knew what he wanted, and he had taken it without thought or foresight. Clive had killed because he was hungry, and the remains…

He grabbed his throat, going into a fit of dry heaves, hating the taste of blood in his mouth that nothing could dispel. He tried to throw up, but he couldn't, his subconscious's intent to keep him sated. In his dream, a man named Zeik had called him the Cannibal, he had eaten human flesh…

Gods, he felt awful.

Clive pounded his fist on the ground and swore. He felt too shaky to get up and he didn't know what else he could do. No, he had to get away from here, from his friends and from the people of the town. He was a danger, he had to get away.

But, he couldn't move as the three other drifters approached, and he was far too choked up to tell them to go away. He just sat there on his knees, crying silently.

Gallows's nicely tanned skin was turned pasty-white at the gory sight of the stables, more like a bloodstained abattoir than a home for horses, to the mind of the Baskar. He was almost knocked down by Clive, the older drifter gasping, looking like he had seen a ghost, then he had spun by one hundred and eighty degrees, sprinting as fast as was humanly possible away from the terrible scene.

When Virginia tried to place a gentle hand on his shoulder for comfort, Clive surprised her greatly by staggering forwards to his feet and twisting his body so that he stood a few paces away from the others, in a position barely a hair's breadth away from a fighting stance. He hid his trembling well, but just looking into his unnaturally focused eyes you could see exactly how frightened he really was. "Don't touch me," He croaked with suppressed emotion, "Don't even come near me." He clenched and unclenched his hands nervously as Virginia slowly shook her head in refusal.

"Clive, you haven't been acting like yourself. If there is something wrong, we will try to fix it. You can trust us, because we're your friends." She stepped forward, extending her hand to him. "Please, tell us what's wrong."

Clive looked down at her white-gloved hand in longing, he wanted to trust them, he knew without a shadow of a doubt that he could, but what he feared, and what prevented him from moving closer, was that the person he couldn't trust, was himself. Clive swatted Virginia's hand away, backing up against the main wall of the ARMsmith building. He could go no further as he felt his back pressed up against the wooden boards and he wished desperately that he was somewhere else. If he trusted and remained with them, if he became a… a monster again, they would suffer. And it would be all his fault.

"You do not understand. The horses, and the people, I… I…" How had this happened? Why? No, Clive didn't want to think about anything. It hurt, it hurt too much to think. The word repeated itself in his head on a constant loop. Monster, monster, monster…

Clive glanced at his hand. He hadn't noticed it before, but he had a dark red substance embedded underneath the cuticles, dried blood, or strips of degenerate flesh, maybe? If he stayed, that might be all his dear friends would be reduced to. He could not let that happen.

"What? Clive, please tell us!" Virginia begged, emphasizing her statement with her pleading tone of voice.

"I KILLED THEM!" Yelled the sniper in a violent outburst, provoking Virginia to step away from him. Clive's eyes blazed, and they looked inhuman. "I am a monster, a demon! You must stay away from me, lest I do something neither of us wishes to happen. It would be so easy… for me to lose control. I remember… Please, stay away…" Clive slumped, his rage spent. He wiped his face and attempted to back away a little more, temporarily forgetting that he was cornered. Giving up, he slid down to meet the ground, resting with his legs crossed, head bowed.

Moving forward and kneeling so he was looming over the agitated man, Gallows scratched his chin thoughtfully, trying to remain objective over the predicament their team was going through. What Clive was babbling about did make a little sense to him, it would explain all the bizarre changes his spirit had undertaken in the past few days. But Clive didn't feel like a demon, not exactly, and Gallows would have stubbornly refused to admit it if he did. The truth was, ever since the early morning, Gallows had sensed demon energy mixed with a Guardian, and a powerful one at that. Who, or what, was Clive turning into?

"A demon, you say? You killed those people, why?" The Baskar questioned without pressure. He wasn't sure if he was humouring him or not, but he had to make Clive feel comfortable enough to speak with him. Clive's shoulder twitched and he hiccoughed once, but refused to say any more.

"You're not seriously sayin' that he's part demon?!" Exclaimed Jet with incredulity. Jet had always assumed the fact that he was travelling with humans, and he trusted them, as humans. Was it possible that it was not so? It might have been a selfish thought, but Jet didn't want to see another person have to go through what he was forced to undertake. It was far too painful.

"I dunno. But if he believes that… Nobody knows their own body better than themselves, right? Besides, I think… he might be telling the truth." The words Gallows spoke knocked Virginia out of her silence, the female drifter finding herself previously too dumbstruck by Clive's proclamation.

"No! That can't be true! The demon race was destroyed and Hyades shut off from the rest of Filgaia forever! The prophets are dead! No more demons can be spawned, and I refuse to believe-"

"Ginny!" Gallows butted in with retaliation, raising a hand, "Invoke your medium and sense what I sense. Then, tell me if you think Clive is lying. I hate to admit it, but maybe all the pieces will fit if you give it a shot."

Virginia shook her head obstinately and with conviction. "I don't have to. I know what I know, and Clive is not a monster, he is our friend."

But Jet had a different opinion, his connection through the Hope Shard conveying to him all the information he needed. He closed his eyes in defeat and exhaled, giving in to what he knew was the truth. "I sense a demon presence." He said simply, moving next to Gallows and standing near the sniper. As expected, the sensation only got stronger as he got closer to the man. Yet something didn't seem right, the mediums, though they recognised Clive as a demon, had absolutely no fear of him, and even continued to supply him with their powers.

"No. No, it's a lie. Clive is human!" Virginia declared tenaciously. "And he didn't kill those people, it would be impossible, the bodies were torn to shreds, Clive couldn't have done that!"

Laughter. Everyone was shocked to hear it, but it was a tired and defeated laughter, as if it's owner no longer cared very much for himself, or anything else. It was Clive's mental release valve, when things got too difficult, all he could do was laugh at himself, at what he had deemed to be so important in his life. It calmed him down a bit, and he could think straighter than before. He laughed, because he knew he was turning into a demon. He was touched by the fact that Virginia cared for him so, but she had to be brave enough to see the truth. Because even if the truth hurt, it had to be endured.

"Virginia, I'm sorry, but you are in denial. Please accept the truth like the others have, and let me go. I have to leave here soon, before I lose what semblance of sanity I have left." He raised his head and pointed to his face, a surprisingly unconcerned visage meeting her gaze. "Look into my eyes and tell me if you think they are demon eyes or not."

She stared purposefully at him, but it only took her a few seconds before her resolve crumbled. Virginia covered her face with her hands, sighing. "Oh Guardians, he's right. But no, this can't be true… He couldn't have killed them, he's not physically capable…"

"Demons do not generally assume a human form one hundred percent of the time." Clive answered, personally wondering how he could remain so calm in a situation like this. Was he just pushing away his own fear? It was most likely that he was slowly going crazy. Indifferently, Clive addressed Gallows curtly with a request. "Please, my friend. You are capable of performing the sleep Arcana?"

"Yes." Replied Gallows, for as long as he was connected to the Moon Spark, the darkness Guardian would offer him her strength.

"I would like you to… please knock me out. I cannot think straight, I need to rest. And, I believe that I have to find myself, in my dreams." He didn't rightly know what he was going on about, but for some reason he felt he could trust his own words. And if he was not conscious, there would be no way he could hurt anyone. Clive needed this reality to melt away, because he was not yet ready to face it again.

The Baskar understood him as clear as mud. But he got the general gist of the plea, and released the sleep Arcana over his friend, Clive plummeting into a slumber, being caught by Jet and Gallows before he hit the floor. Jet grunted in exertion as he struggled with the priest to counterbalance Clive between them, he had gotten much heavier than yesterday. What the…? What's he made of? Metal? Sheesh…

Gallows was in deep thought as they dragged Clive back into the inn. They stopped for a second at the reception desk, but Mileux merely smiled and waved them into the guest rooms, free of charge. She reckoned, after such bad fortune for the town, it would be a sin to ask for money at a time like this. Pike was still seated at a table, but this time he had cried himself to sleep, even though it was still daytime. He mustn't have slept much last night, if at all. Volk's crutch lay by his side, and with it lay a disturbing animosity, for Pike would feel it's support for the rest of his natural days.

He says he's a demon, but that can't be true, 'cause the demon race scares the bajeezas out of the Guardians, and they seem to be pretty much okay with him, so far. What is he, then? A hybrid? A human? What? Gallows and Jet had just enough time before they lost their grip and dropped the unconscious Clive on the nearest bed. Gallows shook the tension out of his arm, strained from the heavy weight. Virginia entered the room sadly, listlessly staring at the floor.

"He can't be a demon, he can't be…"

But nobody could prove it. And nobody tried.