Gungnir was placed beside Clive's bed with care, Jet took the extra moments to remove the magazine, rendering the large weapon useless to everybody. It was a precaution, Clive was not in his right mind, and Jet would keep him disarmed until otherwise. He poked the bottom of the clip, releasing the bullets from the green compartment and pocketing them. There weren't that many of them, only three, but the cartridges were big, making up for that fact. Clive preferred accuracy over quantity, the boy had the opposite belief. Jet figured that if you just shot the target like crazy for a while, you'd eventually hit something, which was why he was so partial to the fiery machine gun, over the precise sniper rifle. It was a matter of personal preference, but interesting to think about.

Gallows paced a few feet away restlessly, wracking his brain for information he was loathe to admit he did not have. The Baskar had been courteous, sending his girlfriend home with the advice that she should get some rest and a quick kiss of parting. That had taken place about an hour ago, and for that hour Gallows had continued to pace, thinking.

Clive did not move and had gone cold, he could easily be mistaken for dead if it was not for the slight rising and falling of his chest, shallow breathing. Virginia was sitting at the foot of the bed, hands clasped together and resting in her lap. She was watching Gallows pace, but wasn't really registering the information, her thoughts were directed inward.

He has been acting strangely, and strange things have been happening to him, he even attacked Jet too, and it would explain where all the blood on his clothes had come from… But, I just can't believe it, ever since Halloween…

She immediately found her footing, shouting a little too loudly than what she had intended to. "That's it! Halloween! Gallows, didn't you say the other day that unusual things take place on that occasion? Wasn't that when Clive started to act funny?"

Gallows paused in mid-step, considering what Virginia had said. "You think there's a connection?" He asked, glancing at Clive. Was she suggesting they involve the supernatural in all of this? But Clive already was part-demon, fuelled by a Guardian, the supernatural had practically shoved itself right in their faces.

"This is 'prolly your area," Cut in Jet softly, leaning against the wall of the inn and fingering something small in his hand, "But didn't the monster they saw resemble a wolf?"

"That's what Pike said." Gallows affirmed, sitting down on a spare bed. Awaiting this moment for a long time, he took off his shoes and breathed a sigh of relief, wriggling his toes and enjoying the un-constricting feeling that only a nice pair of socks could bring.

This room was empty save for themselves, they had locked the door, but they could still hear the sounds of the injured search party through the thin walls. It made the Horse Theft Inn seem like an anteroom, while the people around them awaited the summons. Jet felt a sense of exhaustion in this room, it made him hard to think and reason, and those abilities were drained by the mutual dysphoria gathered in the air. "So," Jet continued, "Wasn't the monster Clive had slain also a wolf?" He threw the white fang to the priest, letting him examine it closely.

Gallows ran his thumb over the fang, it would have made a very nice piece of ornamental jewelry in the hands of a good craftsman, he thought he may have seen something similar to this a long time ago, when he was just beginning his priesthood training. It was something his grandmother had shown to him and Shane, explaining to them something of dire importance. Of course, that was what she had said, and Gallows had zoned out on that lesson, deeming it unimportant information. He wanted to kick himself, how wrong he had been. Gallows smacked himself in the face a few times, trying to jumpstart his brain into recalling the sermon. It was a history lesson, about ancient folklore…

"I think I've heard of this before!" He announced to Jet and Virginia, "Somewhere…"

"You don't remember?" Jet asked, arms folded and ironically berating the Baskar for his loss of memory. He didn't entirely realize what he was doing, and no-one else did, because they were all focussed on Gallows's attempts at recollection.

"Agh… I was half-asleep!" He moaned unhappily, kicking his shoe and getting his sock caught on the spur attached to the heel. He snorted and tried to pry it away, only entangling his foot further. "But we could go and ask Granny herself, and I bet Shane would have some idea too!" He suggested helpfully, pumping a fist into the air. Then he bent down to pull the spur out of his sock, kicking his foot and sending the piece of footwear sailing into the air, towards a certain silver-haired drifter.

Jet dodged, but looked none to pleased at having a smelly shoe thrown at his head. His hand unconsciously stretched to his boomerang, and Gallows blanched. "Accident, accident! Mercy!" Jet sighed and dropped his hands, letting the opportunity to teach Gallows a lesson slide by.

The two men heard a sharp gasp behind them, and turned to see Virginia with a hand to her mouth, bloodstained bandages wrapped around her free hand, she was kneeling against the bed and bending over the sleeping drifter within. As Jet and Gallows had talked, she had taken it upon herself to redress Clive's wound before it became infected. Bandages had to be changed everyday if the injury was to remain sterilised, but what she saw was unlike anything she had anticipated. Virginia pulled Clive's coat over the wound and shuddered.

"Clive was attacked by a wolf, a grey wolf, right?" She said breathlessly to the others standing behind her. The drifter had to take a deep inhalation before she could proceed, "And a wolf appeared here and killed some people, right? And Clive believes that he did it…" Gallows and Jet moved so they could stand closely behind the girl as she pointed to the area of Clive's shoulder, covered by the coat. The Baskar crouched down for a better view, but Virginia had her hand over the area, as if she didn't want the others to see what she had seen. "I think this might explain something." She finished unhappily, removing her hand and coat from the shoulder wound.

"What… the… fuck?" Jet garbled slowly in astonishment, brushing away a wisp of silver hair out of his vision. Clive made no reaction to everyone congregated around him, the sleep Arcana still as powerful as ever. He looked calm, definitely unaware of the small change to his body that had only recently been noticed.

His shoulder lacked the bruising and bite marks that had spoiled the flesh with an ugly wound, it had vanished, as if he had never been injured in the first place. But what replaced the bite, that was what had startled the others. Fur, a small patch of dark-greyish fur, bordering on a dull blue covered the small area of his shoulder, standing out from the sniper's cold and clammy skin. It was soft and almost downy in appearance, like a newborn kitten or puppy. Virginia bit the inside of her cheek, this was the proof they were looking for, and it was horrifying to realise. "Clive is… the wolf?" She whispered, parting the fur to look for the puncture marks left by the slain wolf's fangs, finding nothing.

"I guess so." Answered Jet stonily, turning away from the sleeping drifter. He wasn't just a demon, he was the one who had injured all those people, did Clive know about that? From his previous reaction, he most likely did, and Jet could understand perfectly why Clive had asked to be put to sleep. He didn't blame him, Jet would have done exactly the same thing.

"Gah! I know this! I should know this!" Gallows was going through his own personal self-torture, mentally revising all the history lessons he had bothered to stay awake for, and bouncing on the balls of his feet like he was standing on acid. Human turning into monsters, he had heard about it before, something about a curse, or a blessing, a situation similar to that. It was to do with the Guardian's power…

All he could come up with was zilch, nothing, zero.

xxx

Clive ran. He ran as fast as his legs could carry him through the velvety blackness of non-reality, the twenty-fifth electrical field, the dream world of humans. Clive didn't know whether he was going fast or slow, or indeed if he was getting anywhere at all, so dark the world was. What was he even looking for? Somebody, a girl, yes, that was it! He was looking for a girl. Who? Identity unknown, but he had to find her.

His breath caught in his throat and his muscles were beginning to burn, he was tiring, and he hadn't even gotten anywhere! He had to continue, he had to kill-

Kill?

Yes, kill.

He wished for a weapon, feeling a tingling sensation in his hand as nothingness solidified into a form, one he could use to fight. Initially, he expected the wood-grained finish of the Gungnir to appear by his side, ready to be aimed and shot, but as his fingers closed around a cold heavy metal, Clive skidded to a halt, the unfamiliar object weighing down his gun arm, or was it now his sword arm?

It was a blade, cold blue and shining in the lack of light, a beautiful sparkle in the darkness. Clive shifted his hand in the worn leather grip, wound meticulously around a material that was none other than pure gold. On the hilt was an engraved design obviously done by a master craftsman, the spine of the sword was a forged illustration of a collapsing tower, at it's base there was the simplistic and melancholy picture of a boomerang, broken in half. A morose depiction printed on such a beautiful blade, an unearthly blade. Clive's eyes widened, a demon blade.

"Have we met before…?"

If Clive had been awake, he would have given great thought to wonder why on Filgaia he was talking to a sword. It was different here, in this dream, he could sense a life force from within the sword, the blade was alive.

Upon realising this, Clive felt like he was hit by a bolt of lightning, revelation flying through his mind. The picture on the blade was so familiar, and the weapon so light, as if it was forged for his hand alone. It was his sword, the living weapon, Dark Guardian Blade.

No, this is impossible! I have never touched a sword in my life! It cannot be mine, I do not know how to-

"Swing." Said a voice with no sound, echoing from every direction. It was full, commanding, absolute. "Break the blockage, remember the past. Swing, or she dies."

The sword grew heavy like a lead weight, Clive began to struggle just to hold it up. He didn't want to, he didn't know how, and the more he doubted himself, the heavier it became.

"Daddy!" A high-pitched cry of desperation, two forms appeared before him, a little girl, his girl, and a ferocious beast hulking over her, twin claws holding her dangling in the air from her upper arms and letting her hang there limply. Thankfully, she was unhurt, but as Clive stared into the dark red eyes of the monster, he read an undeniable threat that her health was in a stage of transition.

"Kaitlyn!" He cried, heaving the weapon up into the standard attack position, or what he hoped was so, "Don't worry, I am coming to save you!" As he spoke with resolve, his blade lightened dramatically, and he could step forward, not realising that he was doing exactly as the voice commanded.

Then the monster grinned, or at least manipulated his fang-filled maws into the semblance of a grin, making Clive pause, his mind finally assembling a connection. The beast was wearing an exact copy of his clothing, and only stood a little taller, a little broader, than himself.

It was him, in lupine form.

Deeming that he had procrastinated too long, Lupine Clive clenched his claws tightly, squeezing them into the frail flesh of Kaitlyn's arms. The sleeves of her dark blue dress were stained even darker to a purplish colour, and she screamed, an intensely pain-filled cry of agony piercing the atmosphere and cutting straight into Clive's heart. Impaled on the claws, Kaitlyn could not wrestle herself free, because if she tried, gravity would tear those claws further into the flesh and probably shear them off.

Clive felt like he was frozen in a block of ice, cold all over and unable to move. Even if it was a dream, it all seemed so real, so terrifyingly real. Lupine Clive released her and gently wrapped an arm about her middle so one claw was free, never taking his ruby glare off his more human counterpart. He held up the liberated claw, palm out, so Clive could see his daughter's blood run down the tangled fur. He held it there for a few seconds, letting the image sink into Clive's mind. Then, with a cruel growling chuckle, he brushed back locks of Kaitlyn's hair, dying her golden tresses a coppery red. "Daddy…" Kaitlyn sobbed, tugging weakly at Lupine Clive's coat.

Whatever it was that held Clive back shattered into a million pieces, the cold hilt of his sword pulsing into warm life, and in a motion that was far too fluid to be an unfamiliar technique, Clive sprinted forward, grasping the blade with both hands, feinted a kick to the beast's side, held his boot firmly against the monster's stomach, and swung up, twisting the blade and burying it deeply into the monster's chest. The next second took an eternity to experience, he was leaning against his very own antithesis, inches away from both pointed teeth and claws. The blade was sharper than sharpness itself, entering into the monster like a hot knife into butter. Clive felt no resistance as he drew the weapon out again, the creature must had no bones or innards to speak of. A dark black blood, the blood of demons, ran down and out of the side of Lupine Clive's muzzle, dripping onto the top of Kaitlyn's head. Yet, the beast was smiling as it vanished into the darkness, it had not lost at all, it had won.

Clive caught Kaitlyn before she fell, dropping the Dark Guardian Blade, the weapon ceasing to exist outside of Clive's control. Her soft grey eyes were bright with panic and hysteria and the hand attached to her more damaged arm trembled sadly. But she wasn't crying, her eyes were dry, though fear-filled, and she looked upwards at her father, seeing an upside-down image from the vantage point she was sitting at. "Daddy…" She said faintly, her eyes going glassy like a doll's, "They have me, Daddy. You have to help me, you have to wake up and come home… Please…"

"Kaitlyn, I don't understand. Dammit, please don't die!" Clive hugged the girl closer to his body and felt his proverbial heart break as tiny damaged arms were placed around his chest and feeling the little warmth that was his daughter shiver.

"I won't die, Daddy. Not yet. But you have to come home, wake up… Please wake up…" And as her voice faded, so did she, leaving the world created by simple thoughts and electrical impulses. Clive stood bolt upright, looking around frantically for the girl.

"Kaitlyn, what do you mean, wake up? Am I dreaming?" of course, why hadn't he seen it before? He was dreaming. He could never hold or swing a sword, it was all fancy, at least, in this world. But still, her words hit him like a large blunt object, a enormous sense of homesickness struck him, and all he wanted to do was go home.

The loud silent voice again, whispering in a tone of amusement. "You realise that now? Yes, a dream, a dream of truth. When awake, you dream of delusions, forgetting your true identity. You dream, Boomerang, you dream…"

"Boomerang?" He said to the indefinable voice around him, "My name is Clive Winslett!"

A whispering sigh, bearing sorrow and grief. "Then, Clive Winslett, wake from your dream."