What he was doing was reckless, he knew that, but if he did not keep his mind occupied, it might slip away into another world again, and he would wake up more like a monster than before. He deemed himself too far along the road for a proper recovery already, and if he kept this up, he would have nothing human left about him. Clive paced on the roof of the train carriage, ever nudged away by the rough winds, but easily standing his ground. This train ride was taking far too long. Okay, they were in the canyon, but where the hell was the station?
He adjusted his glasses impatiently, shooting worried glances at the position of the sun. I do not remember this journey taking so long… What is the problem? Clive looked down at the gravel holding in place the train tracks as they helped to push the machine forward, they had changed from large lumps of slate to a finer form of sand and dirt; the path was degrading as they headed into obscurity.
Moving his arm sent a mild shock of pain down his spine, he was hurting now even without any reason to do so, but Clive had learnt to just ignore it, he couldn't do anything about it anyway. It kind of felt like the nerves in his body were gradually resetting themselves, reassigning positions to work in an entirely different manner. Sometimes, if he moved a few fingers the wrong way, it would cause a muscle in his shoulder to twitch, or one of his legs to jerk slightly without his consent. He was well aware of what was happening to him, the internal map of his body was being rewritten. The drifter ran his tongue over the pair of sharp incisors he had only just noticed, a tickling feeling at the back of his throat forming. He knew this simple fact to be true, he was not human anymore.
Noticing something unusual tucked into the sleeve of his coat, Clive held his arm up to his face, delicately removing the object stuck in the fabric. A black raven's feather, the plume shining magically in the light, Clive watched the quill flutter in the savage winds, movement creating shimmering patterns that were beyond beautiful. A gift from his feathered friend before he had chosen to depart, perhaps?
"I do know that animal from somewhere…" He told himself, running a finger across the black plume, "A raven… raven…" His mind went fuzzy, more than ten years ago, he had seen a raven, before Yggdrasil and his blindness, he hated those memories, but he forced himself to think. He recalled a dim scene of Catherine giggling while a tiny tamed raven nibbled at her ear, next to a dark-haired youth who was watching all of this and laughing. He was tracking, he was tracking…
Raven… raven… Ravendor. I am tracking Ravendor, and he once had a pet named…
"Kestorael!" He called into the sky, it was probably too late, but he hoped he could get some reply. Clive was ashamed of himself, how could he have forgotten old Kestorael, a special pet that he had practically grown up with? It was no wonder that the bird had become so friendly with Clive, it recognized him and the metal demon had not. The sniper went a little red, embarrassed at his lack of memory. Just how much thought had Yggdrasil taken from him while Clive was unaware? He counted back the time, the years, during the accident that degraded the planet almost irreversibly, what precisely had he been doing? Why did he not notice the change, other than the global amnesia affecting the world?
He almost smiled, Clive knew the answer all right. Chronologically speaking, he had been blind at the time of the accident, he did not notice a thing because he could not see a thing. It was the failed assignment that almost took Catherine's life and wounded his own. In addition, he had been far too worried about Catherine to notice anything else. The temporary blindness that nearly cost him his sight, how much stuff did it blot out of his memory?
Clive sat down, crossing his legs. Kestorael refused to answer, he was probably too far away to even hear his calls, that is, if he would even choose to obey his orders in the first place. Didn't he work solely for Ravendor now? Besides, all animals seemed to despise him in the new form he had developed. A demon. Not even his own mount, Hasufel, wanted to come near him. Clive did not really blame the animal, not after what he had done last night in Claiborne, but he just wished that the world would not hate him so.
One hand was pressed against the metal surface of the train's roof, picking up all the vibrations running through the framework. Clive directed his attention to it, for he suddenly sensed a change in the vibration, a shift into a lower frequency, the sound waves he was picking up with his advanced hearing had lengthened. That could only mean one thing. The train was slowing down. Clive held his hand up to block out the sun, squinting over the horizon. He could not see very well because he was perpetually moving with the carriages, but yes, the station could be barely seen in the horizon. Without thinking too deeply about it, Clive stashed the black feather in a pocket within his coat and stood up to his full height, short green ponytail flicking in the breeze.
I had better get down from here, It would not do to be seen this way…
Being careful that gravity would not pull him under the churning wheels, Clive gripped the border of the window lines down each of the carriages, feeling around for the one he had left wide open a short while before. His hand contacted with a window that had it's glass pane slipped aside and he tightened his hold on the border, uncomfortable with such a miniscule barrier between himself and the moving rails below. Getting the awkward moment over with, Clive swung himself back down into the nearly vacant cabin, content at being indoors again. One could only take so much of a breeze before one became sick of it.
This was the same room he had left the rail attendant in, the sharp youth that he vaguely remembered as being named Tony. There he was, still sprawled over the wooden bench, a dried trickle of blood staining his clean shaven chin. Clive lowered his eyebrows, the boy still had not woken up yet? Strange, he was positive he did not hit him that hard, what was wrong? The sniper leant over the limp body, laying a hand on his dark green shoulder. The cloth was warm from the youth's body heat, so he was still alive, but he just did not want to be resuscitated. Clive shook him lightly, making Tony's head nod a little bit in unconsciousness.
I believe he requires medical attention… Clive told himself, holding the attendant at the back with one hand and his legs with the other. He straightened the youth out on the bench and pressed down firmly on his stomach, at the place where he had whimsically hit him. Something did not feel right, like an organ was set slightly out of place in the body. Clive bit his lip, he had done this deed to the boy, and it looked more severe than he had originally considered. The tension caused the youth to cough in his catatonia, a little more blood dribbling out of his mouth. Raising a hand, Clive wiped the blood away and look at the new series of evidence, it seemed like the boy was suffering from an internal rupture, inner bleeding and severe bruising. It required a doctor's immediate care.
But Clive was no doctor, nor even a very skilled paramedic. Other than some herbal concoctions he had brewed up from stuff Gallows had shown him, he knew nothing about medicine other than basic first aid. He scratched the back of his head, worried. He had no supplies, nothing to treat him with, and that was the extent of any help he could offer. Even so, if he stopped to help this young man, he would be sacrificing some of Kaitlyn's time, and a little of his own. Could he do that?
Then again, could he leave an innocent youth to suffer?
The conflict gave Clive a little idea, it would scarcely be adequate, but it might at least offer some ease for both of them. If he did nothing, Clive simply would not be able to live with himself, it went against his nature. The drifter took a moment to straighten out his glasses again and brush away a strand of loose hair caught by the wire frame, exhaling deeply and preparing himself for the strain that would soon overtake his mind. He had never used an Arcana in this method before, he hoped that his vague hypothesis would have some sort of success on his injured patient. There was only one way to find out.
"Life Drain… Esoteric… Arcana… Retraction."
Instead of targeting an enemy in battle, Clive focussed the brunt of his spell directly on his own spirit, in a way, attacking himself. With extreme care, the drifter wrapped one hand around the youth's neck and held back another hand to distribute the extracted energy into Tony's lifeless form. With nobody else in the room for the energy to fly to, Tony was the only other option it had. Clive was counting on this. His clear blue eyes unfocused as a great fraction of his strength left his body, a giddy feeling of anemic weakness weighing down his limbs. The hand clutching Tony's neck glowed a deep crimson red, and the attendant's pale face seemed to colour a bit and look a little more alive, causing the boy to groan quietly and shift in his place. He still did not wake up, even as Clive fell to one knee, breaking out in a cold sweat. The potency of his spell had been far too great, more powerful than he had anticipated. He had not counted on so much of his energy being expended.
"C-can you hear me? Wake up…" He coughed, the glow in his hand fading as all strength flooded into Tony's body. Clive could not hold it up anymore and it slid down lifelessly, moving with Clive as it became too much for him to handle, the sniper flopping to one side on the clean wooden floor. Breathing harshly, he berated himself for trying too hard, for being far too generous in his support. How could he hope to save Kaitlyn if he could not even stand up? He was a fool.
No, he had caused this mess in the first place, it was only honorable to clean it up afterwards. Clive did not regret what he had done. He had no reason to act inhuman even if he was not one, his heart had still not succumbed to the frost that clung to his entire body. Tony's eyelids fluttered, the boy fighting viciously to regain consciousness. His white gloved hand curled to rest against his stomach, and though he still coughed feebly, no more blood escaped his lips.
Gathering all his stamina, Clive drew himself to his knees and clamped a hand over his chest, much in the same way he had done before a few hours ago, a completely automatic motion that had risen as a habit when he was hurt. He gritted his teeth roughly, moaning slightly as the familiar tingling warmth spread down from where his fist was clenched, healing factor repairing and stabilizing the energy taken from his body. Yes, it slipped his mind that he could heal himself in this manner, it made up for the fact that he lacked medical training or supplies. Clive's breathing deepened, his transient state of anemia perishing into a newly built vigor. A little wobbly, he pushed himself to his feet and felt the train roll to a stop at the station. He had forgotten that docking at his destination was imminent, the injured youth had pushed the thought straight out of his mind.
"Come with me…" Clive rasped, voice a little uneven from his spell of translocation, "I shall find you some medical attention, I promise." He pushed open the door to the cabin and effortlessly slung Tony over one shoulder, grateful that he could help now without pain for either of them. The boy was as light as a feather while he had his mighty gloves equipped, and being the only attendant on this particular train, Clive was not sighted as he carefully hauled the youth off the train and onto the windy platform. Sand began to sting his eyes a little, mostly protected from behind his glasses, but still causing ample irritation. Nobody else was here, the station was practically deserted.
Thinking this place as good as any, Clive lowered the body onto the cement platform with care, laying him out on his back and tilting his head up so the boy would be incapable of swallowing his own tongue. The sniper looked down at Tony and folded his arms, he nevertheless thought that he could do something more for the attendant undeserving of his punishment. He dug his hands into every one of his many pockets, in the hopes that he had something with healing properties stored away that could help. The transferred energy wouldn't last forever, it was only a temporary cure. All he found was what he already knew he had, including the beautiful feather he had picked up only minutes before, the situation did not look good. At last, feeling a sense of relief fall down around his mind, a warming feeling similar to his own healing factor but much more natural, Clive's fingers brushed against what could only be barely dried-out leaves, attached to a plump growth that was luckily not squished in his pocket. Fastidiously, Clive removed the plant and saw a ripe maroon colour in the palm of his hand, a healthy and intact mega berry.
It seemed rather bizarre how fate had decided to deal him the worst possible destiny while luck continued to help him through his trouble without any reservation. That in itself made Clive think that something sinister was watching over him, the sensation materializing as a prickly feeling at the back of his neck. Yet there was nothing he could do about it at his current point in time, it would be best to worry over the things that affected him now, other than such garbage. The drifter was not really a very superstitious man in the first place.
"I am very sorry for this, please forgive me." He apologized to the nearly conscious man, kneeling over his body and hastily undoing the buttons to his dark green uniform. He then pulled up the white shirt underneath to show a deeply coloured bruising around his unprotected stomach, blotchy from ruptured blood vessels beneath the tender skin. It was very hard to look at, and if Clive had not been desensitized to the slight of blood and gore, he would have immediately looked away. The sniper pulled off one glove with his teeth, while his other hand was hooked under Tony's back, pulling the youth up a bit so he could apply the medication better. He spat out the piece of clothing and rolled the berry onto the palm of his hand, clenching the ungloved fist until the juices from the berry began to ooze between his fingers, a pulpy purple nectar that Clive let drip onto the youth's injured stomach. It's effect was lessened because the cure was not taken in the more orthodox way, orally, but Clive didn't want to risk choking the boy when this was a much simpler method.
When it was over, Clive laid the boy back down again and wiped his hand on a fold of his coat, cleaning away all the juice that was left from the treatment. Generally, it was better to seal off the application of a berry with a heal Arcana, and Clive wished he were as knowledgeable of that spell as much as he friend Gallows was. Shrugging and knowing that he had nothing more to lose, Clive let his bare hand hover over the unconscious attendant as he tried to tap into his enigmatic and newly found healing factor, hoping that he could repair others as well as himself.
After about a minute of trying, he eventually gave up, coming to the conclusion that the only person who could benefit from his demon powers was his own lonesome self. Well, the berry was enough to cure him of any critical injury, and what Clive needed to do now was get the youth some help without he himself being seen. It had climbed into his soul slowly enough so as not to be noticed, but Clive was becoming increasingly skittish around humans. Whether it was a fear of hurting them or something entirely different was unknown to him, but he still didn't want to take any more chances than he needed to.
Making every step he took totally silent, Clive crept down to the ticket vendor's booth, hoping that somebody in there might be able to help his young charge that he had unintentionally been stuck with. The sniper jumped the fence near the booth and pressed his back to the thin wooden wall, going behind it to see if anybody was inside. Scarcely noticeable, his ear twitched and he picked up a voice on the other side of the wooden wall, whispering to itself in frustration. Clive smiled, so this was the person's attention he needed. Any other day he would have just bluntly strolled up and asked him sincerely for help, and he most likely would have gotten it, but Clive went a self-conscious red, if he opened his mouth to speak to somebody, they might see his tiny fangs, and then what would happen? There was no way he was going to find out.
Simon twisted his rubix cube around and around, the many varying colours plainly refusing his pleas to mold themselves into a wall of a singular colour that the vendor so desperately desired. Nothing eviler in the world that existed was capable of beating the pure malice that a singular coloured cube could contain, well maybe except for some of the harder Millenium Puzzles his friend had created, designed to send perfectly normal drifters over the brink of insanity. But Simon knew how to complete each and every one of them, it was this blasted rubix cube that he couldn't figure out.
He gave up on trying to conquer the impenetrable fortress of the plastic perplexity and looked to the left and right, guilty of what he was about to do. With a nail that needed to be slightly trimmed, he peeled away a coloured sticker and momentarily slapped it on his bench, only halfway stuck to the wood, the other half dangling off the side. This was so he could reclaim the sticky paper later, after he had finished his task. Peeling and sticking, peeling and sticking, soon Simon had taken off every little coloured square until only a black twisty box remained, useless without it's paper counterparts. Snickering at his indomitable wit, he relocated each sticker to a different area of the cube, dictated by the sides of colour, until each little box on each side was alike to the brother next to it. And the puzzle was completed. Simon had won. Unfairly, that was true, but a win was a win, at least to the vendor.
Sighing, Simon set his hand on his chin and leant on the thick wooden bench attached to his booth, watching the visible gusts of sand fly by. The wind could be physically painful in this canyon without proper protection, though he had gotten quite used to it, in this season not many people chose to come here, it simply was not worth the money, man-hours and travel expenses. Nothing really very interesting existed in Dune Canyon at any rate, except for the Fortune Gear shrine, and that was a little too monster-infested for civilians to enter anyway. Simon really wished something interesting would happen, he was running out of puzzles to amuse himself with…
So the man was a little astonished when a lit and sparking bomb decided to roll down the warped and aging steps of the platform, coming to a stop near his booth, and then exploding in a mild burst of gunpowder and smoke. Simon snapped to immediate attention, leaning out of his booth directly into the sandy winds to see where that explosive had come from. His eyes were forced shut from the breeze, but this did not stop him, he gracefully leapt out from the booth and hopped up the stairs, to where the mine must have originated from. He briefly heard a tiny scuffing of rocks scraping against another surface that vanished almost as quickly as he heard it, but the vendor's concentration was directed elsewhere.
What he found was one of his closet colleagues beaten up and lying senseless on the dusty platform, limp and motionless except for a steady and consistent breathing keeping him alive. Simon gasped and grabbed Tony by the arm, struggling to pull the younger man to his feet. Who in the world had done this? He had not heard or seen anybody else, the train that arrived from the East Highlands was bereft of all passengers, had there been a hijacking, or something? Simon looked down on his friend and decided that it wasn't very important, helping the injured boy was. Raising an eyebrow, the vendor had found a new perplexing mystery to figure out, who had beaten up the kindly young man, and then had chosen to heal him soon afterward? He could smell a little of the pungent mega berry juice applied to the bruising, and he shook his head in wonderment. His day had suddenly gotten a lot more interesting.
By the time Simon had gotten Tony to a more stable state of health and helped him to regain consciousness in the shack reserved only for certain employees, Clive had already slipped past them without effort or risk, just another moving blot on the far horizon.