His beard was getting long, a little too long, for his liking. Dario scratched at the thick black stubble, knowing that far too many days had passed since he had last had a shave. He hoped they could get to his Boss's 'hideout' as soon as possible, because the road his team walked was an exceptionally tough winding one, and Dario was tiring.

Why do we hafta walk? Couldn't we rent some horses, or something? Then Dario had a sudden recollection of his last encounter with a horse, the embarrassing result of two hoof marks on his poor derriere and an inability to sit down for a week. Romero had almost laughed until he wet himself. Yeah, sure, it was funny, but not for him, the victim.

Anyway, Ravendor's 'hideout' was a day's walk and a train ride away, he had been informed by the Boss that it was a hidden pleasantly comforting place, and if it suited Ravendor's high standards, it must be a pretty good joint. Rocks and pebbles rolled underneath his boots, he scuffed them through the dingy dust of the East Highlands, trailing behind the other two drifters as he was carrying their small and mostly obedient hostage, Kaitlyn, obedient only because she had not woken up yet. The chloroform would wear off soon, and Dario wondered about what he could do next. He could repeatedly drug her and just carry her around as dead weight, or he could allow her to regain consciousness, and at least he'd have someone nicer to talk to, it would be better, he had heard somewhere that chloroform killed brain cells. Kaitlyn was only little, he felt bad enough about kidnapping her in the first place, he didn't want to make her suffer any more than she had to. Though he tried his best to deny it, Dario had always had a soft spot for kids.

"You are lagging behind." Ravendor called out to him, melodiously cheerful, hands folded neatly over his chest and black ponytail standing out on his immaculate white clothing. He almost seemed to repel dirt, there was not a speck of dust on him and his face was a fine creamy colour, he did not sweat, even thought the heat was well over forty degrees Celsius. Romero wiped the sweat off his brow with his green bandanna, fantasising with contented quiet of cool oasis's and many beautiful ladies bathing therein.

After that, he idly wondered why people needed to wear so many different layers of clothing on such a hot desert planet, if it would only make them warmer. He answered his own question after a second, rubbing a hand through his blonde hair and reckoning that everyone would eventually catch many forms of skin cancer and die horribly if they dressed so freely. How much time had that mental speculation shaved off? About twenty seconds, damn, and his feet still hurt.

Dario walked faster and caught up to Romero, the two bandits walking side-by-side, a few yards behind Ravendor. Romero looked down at the small bundle of little girl being carried by Dario and sniffed, clearing his throat. "Cute kid." He said, making conversation.

The three started up a small but steep hill, the last obstruction before East Highland Station. Ravendor was walking with his eyes closed, confident and nearly infuriatingly relaxed. Dario shrugged. "I guess so."

Romero got a wicked glint in his eyes. "She's blonde. I like blondes." Dario gave him a sideways glance, he was already well aware of this. Romero was a hopeless pervert, probably the worst the bandit had ever known. His grip on Kaitlyn tightened somewhat, and Dario switched his mental thought processes to a defensive one.

"Yeah, 'cause it's only the bimbos that'll go out with you." He answered gruffly, taking a stab at Romero's love life.

Romero grinned smugly, evilly. Suddenly, Dario didn't particularly like the idea of Kaitlyn being near this guy. "What's wrong with bimbos? They're the best." He fixed the bearded bandit with a sly glance. "'Sides, bro. You're just jealous 'o me, 'cause you haven't had a good lay for ages now. Whaddaya say we take this little blondie girl and-"

Romero did not finish. It was mostly due to the fact that Dario had punched him squarely in the face. He hit the ground loudly with a strident 'thump', absorbing the brunt of the impact with his spine. Romero pressed two fingers to a split lip, staring at the blood mixed with his saliva in astonishment. Dario shook the tension out of his fist and kept on walking, he would make sure that from now on, Kaitlyn would stay in his care. She may be a hostage, but she was still human, and being exposed to sex-starved bandits was something Dario would not let happen.

"Good work, Dario." Said Ravendor, clapping his hands languorously a few feet away. "I knew it would be beneficial to employ you in my services. That child is not to be harmed, until I declare otherwise." Effeminately, Ravendor pointed over the ridge of the hill they were standing on to a small edifice by the railroad tracks, the station. "We are almost there, and you," His straight-laced face hardened as he turned to Romero, "Any damage to the girl will be taken out of your hide. Do you understand?"

The ninja was recovering from the blow, a little surprised at how hard Dario could hit when he tried, but he paid attention to his Boss, confused. "Why? Ain't the brat just our hostage? Why can't we have a little fun?"

For the briefest of moments, pure anger flitted across Ravendor's face, but was buried quickly by a façade of unattached interest. Ravendor closed his eyes and sighed, the imprint of a bitter memory weighing heavily on his heart. "Because she is… Catherine's child." He was met with two clueless and blank stares, not expecting anything more from the minions. Giving up on them understanding, Ravendor skidded down the rocky slope of the hill, towards the station and a swift getaway.

Unnoticeable, Kaitlyn shifted in her sleep, just on the edge of waking up.

xxx

The roof had cracks in it, dark branch-like lines running around the edges of the whitewash ceiling and dull splotches of unidentifiable substances scattered along it's area. Not many people would become aware of this, as you don't usually look up and examine ceilings on a regular basis, but this time, Clive did, because he had just woken up and was still trying to register feeling in his arms and legs. His chest was killing him, a concentrated painful burning sensation in his sternum, like he had been stabbed by something exceedingly sharp. He rubbed the affected region tenderly, propping himself up with an elbow and blinking his eyes tiredly. The mildly lucid chorus of a deftly played variation of 'Classical Gas' wafted around the small room, emerging from the Baskar nearby who had his eyes half-closed, oblivious to the world around him, except for the music he played. Jet was diligently polishing his favoured ARM, close to Virginia who seemed to be in an advanced state of moping, most likely on his account.

The second stage of his condition hit him moments after, a colossal headache knocking him full in the face. It felt like a hangover, only much, much worse. Clive groaned, pressing a hand to the side of his head, attracting the attentions of the other occupants in the room. Three pairs of eyes fixed themselves on him, and Clive had no choice than to meet them, though it hurt to do so. How would they react, now that they knew he was a demon, a murderer? Would they hate him, did they hate him, knowing that he had stained his hands with so much blood, in direct opposition to the pristine morals they had chosen to uphold? Yes, they would, they should, demons were a foreign body on Filgaia, a hated one. Clive knew, that by logic, they should hate him.

"I… need a drink." It was the last thing he wanted to say, and by a stupendous lack of sense, he had actually said it. What else could he say? He didn't think he could phrase anything right, his wits were scattered, and he didn't know where they went. Jet was the only one who responded to the request, tossing him a small metal flask with a intricate dragon design weaving around it's sides.

"Here," He said quietly, "This'll wake you up." Without questioning him, Clive unscrewed the small lid on the bottle, not wasting any time and downing it's contents as quick as possible, barely even registering what it was he was drinking. The bite came a split second later, and he started coughing, it was a strong whiskey, brewed in Little Twister, if Clive knew his liquor right. "Good stuff, eh?" Jet continued, watching Clive nod through his coughs. They subsided after a time, and he looked around the room, pausing to observe the female drifter sitting nearby Jet. Clive sighed, this must be very hard on her.

"I'm sorry Virginia," Clive apologized, looking downcast, "Please don't be upset." She glanced up at him, almost angrily, before shifting her gaze to the ground. She could not meet his eyes.

"So, you're a demon, huh?" She murmured, almost casually, as if nothing was wrong. "How can you stand it, aware of what you are? I couldn't- I mean, I can't believe it."

Clive slowly screwed the lid on the flask back in place, taking an incredibly long time to complete the simple task, postponing his inevitable answer. "I don't know." He said finally, looking as if every word he spoke brought him pain. "What else can I do? I don't know what… I feel… lost." He rubbed his hand over his face, the silver burn still discomforting him somewhat. He must be the only demon left on Filgaia, his team had personally seen to the extinction of the demon race, he was all alone. Virginia was right, how could he stand it? So this was what it felt like to be a loner. Clive passed the bottle back to Jet, Jet the singular Filgaia Sample, understanding a little more of his silver-haired friend than he thought possible. Loneliness, it hurt like a deep knife wound, twisting in his flesh.

"But I understand this," Clive continued, dropping his gaze to the simple peach coloured fabric he was sitting on, a soft and calming hue. There was a framed picture above his bed, and he analysed it for a while, a painting of a mountaintop. He didn't know why he was noticing such unimportant things, but he assumed it was a subconscious attempt to sidetrack himself. "You all hate demons, don't you? Because of what they did to Filgaia. So I understand… if you don't want to be near me anymore, I don't mind. If you hate me, I'll leave quietly." Clive slid himself off the bed, his headache increasing as he stood up straight. If he left now, if he went far away, they would be safe, and that was all Clive wanted, even if it meant he had to be alone. He turned to pick up his ARM, unaware that it was unloaded, and headed for the door.

But Virginia was blocking the way, arms spread to impede both ingress and egress from the room. Her face was set hard in fuming anger, and her arms were shaking. Clive did not expect this, and honestly did not welcome it. "Let me go, Virginia." He said firmly, ARM slung over his shoulder, "Get out of my way."

He did not expect the sharp biting pain as she slapped him, hard and fast. Jet and Gallows practically cowered in their seats, they had never seen Virginia so upset before, not a screaming or raving anger, but a powerfully suppressed fury, she looked like she might explode at any given moment. Clive raised his hand to feel the red handprint-shaped mark on his cheek, dazed.

"How dare you," She seethed through clenched teeth, "How dare you even consider leaving us? I thought we were your friends, you bastard. I don't give a damn what you are, you could be a prophet for all I care, but you are our friend, Clive. We won't leave you alone when you need us the most." She exhaled all her anger, and it departed, making her a lot less scary. "The others are with me too on this, I don't have to ask them, I know."

Clive turned, facing back into the room again. Jet and Gallows stared back at him with steadfast expressions. They answered to the silent question Virginia had asked, nodding with perfect synchronisation. The sniper felt a heavy leaden weight fall from his shoulders, and he slumped them, removing the rifle that hung there. There was a table and chair nearby, and Clive sat down heavily, brushing green hair out of his face. Absent-mindedly, he noted that his hair had grown substantially longer than what was deemed normal in such a short amount of time. It was most likely a side effect of his mutation, his body was going haywire, and he could barely even trust his own mind anymore. And still, they wanted him to stay? Friends like this, they must only come once in a lifetime.

"Have you seen my glasses?" He asked them out of the blue. He just didn't feel right without them, despite the fact that he no longer needed them. Virginia searched her pocket and carefully gave them back to the sniper, Clive accepted it thankfully. He put them back on, then removed them for a second, interestingly, he could sense no difference in his vision whether he was looking behind corrective glass or not . His eyes, unnaturally, could adapt to any change in his vision within moments. Clive kept them on, it just felt better this way. Secretly, the other three drifters thought this was a good idea too, because Clive lost the intimidating gaze that had disturbed them before.

Gallows spoke, amazingly, without the buoyant childishness that his friends had learnt to take in stride, he spoke as soberly as an adult, a priest of Baskar. Gallows knew, then and there, that he would be needed, and he had to act as such. "Your dream, did you find what you were looking for?" He asked, setting his instrument aside.

Clive immediately pulled the dream out of his subconscious memory, he had forgotten it until now. He nodded affirmance to Gallows, and now had a fair idea why his chest hurt so much. Ironically, as he had stabbed the monster, he had stabbed himself. But it was just a dream, how could it carry over to reality? Or worse, could the opposite be possible? Well, that was not the important thing, Clive had to figure out what to do. "Everyone," He said resolutely, "I have to go back home, to Humphrey's Peak. I sense that something terrible has happened there, and I have to go."

Gallows scratched his head, the strain of thinking deeply showing up on his facial expression. "I was gonna suggest we head over to Baskar, but if you wanna go home, I'm all for it."

"Are we takin' Lombardia?" Jet questioned, sitting cross-legged on his own bed.

Clive shook his head. "No, we must get there right away. I propose we use the teleport orb, if it is ready for usage. May I please have it?" The red gem, teleport orb. A great and effective tool for travel, it could degrade the bodily structure of an individual to pure energy and transmit the user to any location familiar to the person's memory. However, there was one downside and catch, it only worked once every month, any other time than that, it was just a simple stone.

Virginia checked the luminosity of the orb, an indicator if it was ready to be used. A crimson glow swirled around in it's core, so the orb appeared to be full of heavy liquids and gases, it had a mercurial beauty to it, and a great target to gem-loving drifters. Virginia was just thankful her team had managed to get a hold of it before the Schroedinger gang did. "Yes, we can use it." She replied, passing the orb to Clive. "But we have to leave town first. It won't work indoors."

The team filed out of the inn room after Gallows took it upon himself to unlock the door. But as Virginia moved to leave herself, she felt a cold hand gently hold her back. Clive was smiling ruefully at her, amused by something. "I have just come to realise a certain fact." He said, releasing her hand.

"What is that?" She asked, inwardly grimacing at the mark she had placed on Clive's face. Maybe she had overdone it a little bit.

Clive spread his arms, bringing attention to himself. "You doubted that you could lead this group through to safety and security, through all odds. But Virginia, you are not only doing that most admirably, but you managed to pull me back when I wished to wander elsewhere. I admit that I am wrong and you are right. I could not place my hopes in a better leader, and if Filgaia is to be placed on your shoulders once again, I am one demon who will take it upon himself to help you bear that burden, to Hades and beyond. Thank you, Virginia, you bring me strength." And he left the room with a much lighter heart, he could face the world again, he was ready for this reality once more.

Virginia looked at her hands, she felt much better, but at the same time, much worse. "How can I give you strength," She mumbled, "If I have none of my own?" Jet. She thought of Jet and shook the bad thoughts out of her head. This was not the time to be thinking of such things. Virginia had much more important matters to attend to. She was the leader, she had to lead.

It was her duty.

Her responsibility.

Her ordeal.