"Train, train, take me away!" Dario was a little bit dumbfounded. Kaitlyn was up and about quite happily, ignoring her bound hands and seeming not to care that she had been kidnapped by a troupe of criminal outlaws. She was even singing. "Take me away, far away!" She was leaning out the window and watching the wastelands fly by with fascination, blue ribbons whipped around by the speed of the train. For a second, her eyes flicked to their occupied cabin, looking at the one sleeping and one awake drifter. The sleeping man was scary, though he didn't appear too frightening outwardly. Kaitlyn concluded that it must still be his naptime and left him alone. "To the future, we will go!" Dario had let her run around the room, although she wasn't allowed to leave the cabin. Having only recently woken up, Kaitlyn was in an energetic phase of restlessness, she could not stay in one place for too long. "Where it leads, no-one knows!"

"Hopefully, we will have some idea." Ravendor said to Kaitlyn, surprising her. He looked to be still asleep because his eyes were shut. However, he spoke as someone wide awake and got up, stretching like a cat. The leader rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, momentarily checking to see if his ARM was still in it's holster. It was a very antique weapon, given to him by his father, the famed Duke Begucci. But compared to the pompous, all-talk-and-no-substance noble, Ravendor had both modest confidence of his own abilities and quite a lot of substance to back it up. Blood can wash clean from a man's hands, and Ravendor had accumulated enough of a stained reputation to fill the seas of sand. He smiled at Kaitlyn benignly, mercurial eyes showing unusual affection. "You are quite the songbird, little one."

Kaitlyn put her back to the window, fumbling with the rope around her wrists. She had a question she wanted to ask, and although her parents had encouraged her to ask questions about things she was unsure of, she felt reluctant to pry anything from out of the tall dark man. Curiosity can only be held back for a short time, however, and her mouth opened despite her desire not to. "Mister… why did you kid-nap me?" She asked, stumbling through the syllables of the word 'kidnap'.

Ravendor cricked the kinks out of his back slowly, stretching his arms out. He then took a few steps toward Kaitlyn, kneeling down and placing a hand on her small shoulder. "What is your name, child?" He questioned with a hidden intent. All he seemed to be full of was benevolence for the girl, but was that his true feelings?

"Kaitlyn." She replied obediently, shying away from Ravendor's touch. "Spelt with a 'K', not a 'C'." The man noticed her apprehension of him and removed his hand, laying it over his knee, nodding, as if her answer made perfect sense to him. He shot a glance at Dario, asking a silent question about Romero, to which the bandit shook his head, he had not returned yet.

"Little Kaitlyn," He purred, slightly tilting his head to one side, placidly smirking, "Do you know who I am?" Ravendor felt like lighting up another cigarette, absently touching the packet tucked away in his jacket, but he would do no such thing in a small cabin with a child inside, he didn't mind the damaging smoke, but he surely didn't want to harm the girl, in spite of the letter he had written to Clive. He was not so low as to injure a child prematurely to his plans.

She shook her head. "No. Are you my kid-napper?" Kaitlyn rubbed her chin in thought, a bad habit she had picked up from somewhere, she did it every time she was forced to think hard. Ravendor was unrecognisable, she had never seen him before in her entire life.

The dark-haired man chuckled silently, at the same time feeling deeply saddened by her reply. Of course, he had expected something like this, knowing Clive as well as he did, the sniper would have most likely swept his memories of him under the carpet, as was his usual wont when dealing with the past. With the greatest of care, he picked up Kaitlyn and deposited her on the long bench he had been sitting on, on his knees in front of her so they were at the same height, looking each other in the face.

She has grey eyes…My gods, it is like looking into the past…

"Well, yes and no," Ravendor answered after a few moments, one hand leaning on the bench next to the girl. "Do not be afraid, none of us shall harm you in the least, so you cannot really call us kidnappers. Think of us more as… as…" The man tried to think of a non-offensive word, tapping his fingers on the wooden seat, making a hollow sound.

Dario threw a word at him. "Babysitters?" He guessed, gripping the rim of his hat.

Ravendor clapped his hands in creepy delight, redirecting his smile to Dario. "Yes! A perfect example! For the next few days, we shall baby-sit you, little one." His smile faded and became more sombre, closing his eyes as if about to bring up an abhorrent subject. Again he patted her on the shoulder, more of a comfort for himself than to the girl. His hands went down to her wrists, undoing the tight knot binding her arms together. Kaitlyn looked at her untied hands with surprise, kidnappers do not suddenly free their hostages, do they?

"Why am I here?" She inquired with utmost innocence, wide eyes able to melt the hardest hearts in Filgaia. She put her hands in her lap, looking at the slight red band around her wrists, an unavoidable rope burn. It stung a teensy bit, but she ignored it bravely.

"Ah, this is a hard thing for me to say, and you may not believe it," Ravendor warned, scratching his cheek inattentively, "Are you sure you wish to know?" Dario had his hat pulled over his face, taking his own turn at a nap, now that Ravendor was awake to watch the girl. Kaitlyn glimpsed the bearded man in a light doze, and redirected herself back to the man sitting in front of her. She rubbed one wrist and nodded, inquisitive to a fault.

"My name is Ravendor Begucci. I am your uncle."

xxx

The sun burnt itself into his pale skin, and no matter how hot the surrounding environment was, he repelled it and still managed to catch a small touch of heatstroke. One foot after the other, he steadily followed a winding path around sizeable rocks and veritable quarries, wishing that he could simply summon Hasufel and ride the miles away. The trail went slightly south in a westerly direction, untouched or tainted by neither monster nor man. The air was a little dusty and it encouraged him to sneeze a few times, he felt sickened without illness. It was nowhere near as bad as yesterday, but he still had a headache and residue from the phantom sword stroke he had inflicted upon himself. Yes, the dream, a few more things had recently come back to his recollection.

She… she addressed me as another entity. What was it?

…Boomerang…

Boomerang…

…Is that my name?

Clive shook his head. Was it possible to be someone else? He had many questions to ask, and nobody to answer him. Jet had a small boomerang he threw around at times, it never bothered him, in fact, Clive felt he had no connection to that tool whatsoever. So why was he suddenly so unsure about his own name? There was someone else inside his body, his mind, and he was trying his best to confuse him.

The tip of his boot caught under a flat rock and Clive almost tripped himself over, pin wheeling his arms frantically and tottering forward, balancing out just in time before he lost his footing. His boots felt like they were lined with lead, alongside his entire body. Something seemed familiar about that, he had learnt a long time ago from an acquaintance…

"If you are living flesh, then we are living metal…"

The sniper held his hand out in front of his face, he didn't feel like metal, he could still see the bluish undertones of his circulatory system under the skin and tissue, if he could call it tissue. Didn't demons have black blood? Shouldn't he check, just in case?

Without knowing what he was doing, Clive suddenly found himself gripping a miniature switchblade, one of the oldest tools he owned, with the steel edge hovering only an inch over the skin hiding his radial artery, a twitch away from slitting his own wrist. The knife was a little dull and tinged with rust, but it could certainly still do the job. He didn't know what had come over him, Clive immediately retracted the blade, no emotion showing up on his face. He rethought his plan and pulled out the knife again, taking a second to check to see if it was clean where it counted, and pricked his index finger lightly, punching a minute hole in a high-pressure vein concealed within. Clive squeezed the finger, forcing a drop of blood out and dreading the results. Would it be red, or black?

A tiny drop of liquid rolled down his finger and onto the palm of his hand, making a small sad puddle. Not even his eyes could deceive him, the blood was black and slick, like oil. He dipped his other finger in the blood, drawing a smudge across his hand. Oil, the maintenance fluid of machines. Clive felt dirty, kicking a round pebble away and down a rocky slope. He wanted to go home, back to Catherine and Virginia and everybody else, so he would not have to be alone anymore. Clive had always hated being alone. All his life, he had tried to travel in a group, flitting from group to group, maintaining loyalties and doing things he would never consider doing in his current life, but he had never been alone. This, it was a new and frightening experience for him, he was having trouble handling it. Could he do this, all by himself?

I must. Kaitlyn, I will find you!

He detected the smell of noxious fumes before he even discovered he was under attack, adrenaline in his system kick-starting his reflexes, hearing the whip snapping crack in the air prior to the sharp, stinging blow dealt across the back of his head. It knocked him down not with brute force, but with simple value of surprise. Clive hit the dirt and flattened himself out on the ground instinctively, lowering his chances of being hit again. A cloud of thick purplish gases hung lazily above and around the area, trying to choke the sniper to death. Clive pressed his hand against his mouth and nose, trying with futility to block out the poison settling itself into every pore, a wave of nausea sweeping over his body. He rolled over to meet his assailant, coughing and spluttering from the gas.

It was like a pulsing bag of green ooze, floating silently a few feet above the ground, a ring of slimy tentacles ringed around the top of the creature and looking to be a mixture of plant and fungus. A tube extended from the base, where the gases emanated from, dripping a disgusting acid upon the parched ground. Clive was familiar with these monsters, a beast called the moss fungus, but he had never seen one so big before, or in an environment where it would remain solitary and unable to seek aid from it's fellow monsters. It was alone, but it was huge, four or five feet in diameter, he roughly guessed. It floated towards where he lay, waving it's tentacles wildly in a declaration of war.

"N-no… I do not… have time for this…" Clive gasped, choking on the foul air. A burning sensation spread down his body, the beginning of a poison condition manifesting itself inside of him. As the population of monsters had dwindled over the regeneration of Filgaia, some breeds of monster had grown over the extinct animals habitats and consumed the resources, getting stronger at the expense of others. This also seemed to be the case in the East Highlands, for Clive had never known a moss fungus to grow so strong naturally. Without a doubt, Filgaia was only beginning to re-establish her equilibrium. The tactic for destroying a monster of this structure was a very simple one, it was merely a levitating bag of poison and disease, all he had to do was puncture it with something, and a bullet would do nicely.

But his hands were empty, he was unarmed. Clive had left Gungnir with Catherine, and now had no weapon at all to defend himself. Another tentacle lashed out at his face, but Clive threw up an arm to shield himself, the whip-like appendage wrapping around his forearm and retracting sharply, yanking the sniper along with it. He pressed his heels into the ground to keep his place, the fight becoming a battle of strengths. The poison spread down his body and weakened his resistance, like an acid eating away his internal organs. Clive clenched his teeth as he dragged himself a step back, the moss fungus yielding a small amount in their game of tug-o-war.

"…Damn you… I have to leave…here… Let go…" Furtively, he used his free hand to check the pockets of his coat, searching for an antidote, or anything he could use against the monster. His already icy blood went even colder as he realized his inventory lay in the same place as his rifle, at his home in Humphrey's Peak. He had acted far too brashly, incredibly unlike himself, and now he would pay dearly for it, possibly with his own life.

The poison-coated tentacles began to seep more toxins through the sleeve of his coat, the burning sensation diffusing into his bloodstream. His pockets were deep, and at the last moment when he thought giving up would be the best thing for the entire planet, the small handle of his switchblade pressed itself into his palm, small but sharp. Clive thought up a plan in two seconds, relenting to the floating fungus and letting the creature draw him closer to the putrid sack of it's body. Immediately, he pulled the small knife out of his coat, pressing a tiny button on the handle, the long pointed blade popping out of it's base.

An arm's reach away, Clive plunged the meagre dagger into the fungus, tearing the creature wide open. The effect was similar to cutting open a wet paper bag filled with slime, the monster leaked a gooey green ooze all over the ground, a mixture of blood, pus and internal organs. The smell was ungodly, and Clive wrenched the tentacle off his arm and tried to rub the burning away, knowing it would not work.

Clive keeled over, succumbing to the poison that worked upon his half-changed system and becoming all the more potent. He would be able to take this infliction any other occasion, except today. He was halfway between both Humphrey's Peak and East Highland Station, he could go one way, or the other. But, could he make it to either without the toxin wasting him away? Clive pressed a hand to his chest, a tiny trail of purplish ichor coursing down the corner of his mouth, the poison was beginning to take a serious effect, he was getting dizzy…

It feels like I am being eaten alive… Stop it… Stop it, please…

Warmth, it swelled up in the fist pressed against his heart, startling the sniper because he had only just gotten used to being so cold. It was a warming sensation without any actual heat being produced, absorbing itself into his chest. All of a sudden, the burning faded away, dispelled by some sort of a cure, a regenerative ability. Clive looked down at his clenched fist, a white aura surrounding it. He was healing himself.

Spitting out the poison trapped in the back of his throat, Clive rose, wiping his mouth. He would have preferred the use of an antidote, had he been given the choice, but this was as good enough as any for him. "Interesting…" He spluttered, fixing up the position of his glasses, "So I am… capable of purging impurities in my body without the aid of… an antitoxin." A useful technique, but one he sincerely did not want. Clive breathed in the clearer air, glad that the gas cloud had dissipated.

A bubbling gurgle mixed with pitiful mewling made Clive turn around to the twitching monster half-deflated in the dust. Like incredibly flexible fingers, the tentacles of the fungus inched across the earth, dragging the body as far away from Clive as possible, the handle of the switchblade embedded in it's torso. By the sounds it made, it was in a mindless agony and fear, bleeding slime and creating an oozing path as it slowly escaped, tarnishing the earth. Clive dropped his hand, feeling terribly responsible.

Whoever or whatever I come in contact with… all I do is cause them pain. Everyone…

The creature shrieked in fright as Clive set his foot against it's bulbous body gently, holding it down as he withdrew the knife. The sniper had only been defending himself, but the creature still had no right to suffer needlessly. It would be best to end it's suffering, now, while it had no defenses or chances to fight back. To be a monster, Clive knew what it was all about. He wished somebody would end his own torture, but the only one who could do that was himself.

"And that is why, Kaitlyn," He finished out loud, "I have to save you. I cannot die until you are safe… And I want you to be safe, so I can finally..." Clive mumbled away the end of his sentence, not really wanting to think about his own intentions. Best to do that later.

It's shriek was cut off as a heavy foot squashed all the weight of the metal demon onto the creature, forcing it to be silent. A pulpy mass stuck to the sole of his boot, which he scuffed off on the flat rock that had previously tried to trip him over. He retracted his switchblade and hid it back in his pocket, looking in dismay at the large hill that he would have to climb before he could reach the station. Ravendor's trail went straight up the mount, and so Clive followed it steadfastly, carefully noticing the faint footprints of a band of travelers slowly being blown away by the wind and the time. Three sets of prints, all made by middle-aged men several hours ago. Clive was momentarily confused, why was there no little girl prints? They must have been carrying her, as he could still sense her following this trail. He rubbed the back of his head, where the fungus had managed to hit him with psychological fatigue, he was still too far behind.

He started to run, disregarding the scent trail, because he already knew exactly where the destination would lie. Walking so slow was killing his precious time, making every minute seem even more urgent. He had to get to her soon, before it became dark.

Before the moon would come out.