Kaitlyn was dragged down the corridor, roughly being hauled along by Romero's less than careful hands, the little girl taking irregular steps that were frequently interrupted by times when she was literally pulled off her feet. Everything was rushing through her head at a mile a minute, thoughts and feelings, some of them despair and betrayal. She thought she knew what Ravendor's intents had been, from the kidnapping, it's purpose, but Kaitlyn had no idea that it directly involved her father. There were so many things she didn't know, and she was loath to admit that she was just an insignificant little girl, unable to help at all. Kaitlyn started to cry silently as she was being pulled, trying her best to keep up with Romero's pace.

Romero in turn was heading down the winding passageway just like he was ordered to, ignoring all the other branching tunnels and sticking to the path laid out ahead of him, his breathing quickened by his fast motion. Dario was several paces away, nowhere near as healthy as he was and lagging behind. Kaitlyn was between them, in that large gap, protected by both a front and rear guard. The passageway had large boulders blocking certain portion of the path, though they did not cause an absolute blockage, it was a great hassle to have to weave his way around them, trying to keep Kaitlyn from tripping over. He glanced to the sides a couple of times, a slight change in the colouration of the walls attracting his attention. They had been stony grey before, and now, here and there, they sported dark lines of deep brown running like veins through the solid stone, bearing both a different colour and texture.

A closer look showed that they were the dead trunks of trees embedded into the stone, acting as load bearers to keep the walls straight and strong. Probably, ages ago, they might have been alive and lit up the shrine with organic beauty, but now all they did was offer a good way to hold up a dead ruin. Romero didn't care about this, anyway. He was not an archaeologist, or some chump with too much spare time to learn about crap like that. He had better things to do, like making money and staying alive. Romero yanked on Kaitlyn's arm again, silently telling her to pick up the pace, getting a small cry of pain from her as a result. Between breaths, he grinned. Good, make her feel pain, let her know who was dragging who around. She was just some dumb kid, anyhow, the only people who seemed to give a damn about her were gone, off in their own little ventures.

Romero had a thought, and skidded to a halt, Kaitlyn similarly putting on the brakes and bumping into his side. She was crying and panting, confused over Ravendor's intents, her father's supposed appearance, and what exactly was going on in general. The one-eyed bandit looked behind both of them, counted to twenty, and discovered that they were no longer being followed by Dario, wherever the other bandit had gone off to. That retard, couldn't he even follow his lead? Even an eight year old girl had managed to keep up with him. Romero cupped his hands around his mouth and hollered; "DARIO?! YOU HERE?!" No reply. He waited twenty seconds, and tried again. His voice echoed throughout the ruin, Romero guessed that if he had been nearby, he should have heard it, but still got no answer. They had been separated.

"I… I wanna go home…" Kaitlyn whispered between her tears, holding both her hands to her face to keep the tears from spilling out. With nobody else to cling to, she hugged Romero's side, dampening his clothes with quiet sobs and sniffles. "I don't like this anymore… I wanna go home…" She repeated, gasping a little in surprise as Romero roughly pried her away. Looking up at the adult, something inside her heart went cold. She didn't like the way he was grinning at her, lecherous and immoral, his one good eye glinting in the weak light.

"Guess what?" He smirked, grabbing her crudely by the shoulder, amused by the short squeal of pain and alarm. "This place is a maze, and nobody else is here with us, no-one at all. It would take… I dunno… at least ten minutes for someone to find us, and that's plenty of time, for me, at least." Leaning over, he brushed a strand of golden hair behind her ear, feeling Kaitlyn shake under his hands. She was petrified. "Daddy and your so called Uncle aren't here to save you now, sweetie." A few more tears escaped, and Kaitlyn tried to step back, to no avail. His last words scared her in a way she never thought possible, her blood turning to ice. "You're mine, for now."

The layout of the caverns was in a perfect design for sound to be amplified, precisely where the two people had been standing. When Kaitlyn screamed, everybody in the ruin heard it, and it cut through their souls like a reaper's scythe.

Romero laughed.

xxx

Dario hit a wall. Not literally, of course, though with the bandit's usual dexterity, it could easily happen. Actually, the bandit had come to a wall when he knew he should not have, and when he put his thick hands to the wall and pushed, he got no physical reaction except for a few small stones rolling away and into niches elsewhere. This place was packed up even tighter than the obstruction his boss had destroyed, it almost seemed like it had been neatly cemented together. Dario made up his mind on the spot; he was not supposed to be there. Turning, he couldn't see any of the others near him either, they must have taken a different path. He was lost.

The bearded bandit ran back up to the intersection he had taken, trying to judge which passageway was the main one. They were so difficult to differentiate, and the lack of light within the area made it no easier. He didn't even know which direction he had come from. North was south, west was east, up was down and he cursed, pulling on the collar of his shirt. Why did he have to mess up now? Especially when Romero was the only other person watching Kaitlyn?

Kaitlyn?

Somehow, he was not surprised when he heard the girl scream. When Romero had a chance, he took it. Swearing, Dario picked out a corridor using the universally accepted method of 'eeney meeny miney mo', and ran down it as fast as his legs could carry him, hoping that it was time for his lucky break. Antonio had said that this place had miles of tunnels all around it, he didn't want to be lost for all eternity.

But, thinking one step at a time, he ran after their hostage first.

xxx

The sensation was like being permanently poisoned, when he took a step, the blood circulating through his legs were like razor blades, cutting and shearing his inner workings without remorse. Clive sweated profusely, trying his hardest to prevent the fur from appearing all over his skin, and hugging the wall like the last crutch he had left in the world. His glasses had fogged up from the sweat, so he used up a huge amount of energy to pocket them, his hands clenching as he felt the rest of his teeth begin to elongate and resemble his already deadly sharp canine fangs, and whimpered slightly as the shape of his skeleton slowly shifted into something else. No numbing sensation settled over him this time, it was all painfully there for him to feel, every little bit of the transformation.

"I… I carran't… straaay… rike thris furrr… murch ronger…" He rasped, between the vocal dialects of both wolf and human. Clive uttered a sad cry as his body tensed, tossing his head back and whimpering like a frightened animal as he was jabbed by a million needles across every inch of his skin, the fur emerging in a wave of intense suffering. Crying, Clive slumped against the wall and rested for a few seconds, trying to regain the incentive to push on further. He raised a hand to his cheek, though it was more like a deadly claw, and whimpered some more, trying to say something coherent, but having it come out as a garbled mess. He was a mess, and no matter how much he tried to fight it, he already knew who would win. The curse… The full moon was just too powerful for him to fight, he couldn't possibly win.

I came so close… and got so far… But I failed. I always fall short right at the crucial moment… Always… I am worthless. I cannot even save my own daughter! Gods damn it, I do not even deserve to live after all I have done… I am a murderer… a failure as a father… I should just die…

Clive, in total lycan form, leant against the wall and breathed heavily, holding the back of one of his claws over his eyes. A short amount of time passed, and the lycan creature let out a sob, an undeniably human sob. Sinking slowly to his feet, the creature curled up into the tightest ball he could muster and cried, using up the last of his human conscience in remorse, mourning. He made no sound, except for a few quiet sobs, and the sound of rocks rolling underneath his body as he shook with sadness. He knew, after that moment, that the voice inside his head was right. Kaitlyn was going to die, and if not by the bandits, then by he himself. There was nothing more he could do.

After four days immersed in his own Hell, Clive Winslett finally gave up.

When he blacked out, the last thing he thought was a wish for his own death.

xxx

It was a replay, but with slight differences. First, a feeling of disorientation, and then a slow awakening, in the midst of a dream that he had experienced before. Clive was falling again, though that same unlimited expanse of air, but his breath did not rise, his heart did not beat, he could not register a pulse. This was a dream world, that same dream, and nothing really needed to make sense. His body felt warm, though his heart and soul were frozen in ice, pain within numbness, sadness within paradise. Clive knew this was a place of peace, not suffering, but his own accursed soul had brought pain into the veritable Garden of Eden. He opened his eyes, and tried to breathe, somehow not surprised that he was unable to draw breath.

Falling… again? But this feels different… this time…

The air, and my body… feels very warm…

… But my heart feels so cold inside… and somewhat… empty.

Clive knew without a doubt that something invariably bad had just happened, filled with pain, but just like the transience of a fading dream, he only had the slightest notions of what that bad thing was. His ears registered the whistling of the wind as he passed steadily down, pulled by gravity, and yet somehow floating, not falling. When Clive opened his eyes, he realised several things all at once, making him uneasy, disoriented, severely confused. This was not just a dream, it was a memory. It had happened to him before, but not in the dream world. Clive strained to remember the thoughts that he had lost.

His cheek lightly stung with a ghostly flare of pain, almost like a reminder of who he was. Clive touched two fingers to the area of pain and traced a small cut that had been well on it's way to healing. It was the scratch that Luceid had given Boomerang during a training session before the metal demon journeyed to Ka Dingel. Why did he bear a similar mark?

Removing his hand, he gently held it out in front of his face, his eyes narrowing as he noticed his dark skin tone, and that he bore a great many calluses over his palms from years of training to fight with a sharp-bladed weapon. His body felt bulky, because he was wearing sturdy armor over a white ninja gi, and he could guess that he had dark hair and crimson red eyes. This was undoubtedly Boomerang's body. But for the first time, Clive had control over his movements and actions, even though this body was not his. Was this how Boomerang felt like when he so saw fit to occupy Clive's original body?

… Why am I like this? What has happened? Why does this… feel so familiar?

He felt a dull ache all over his body, and all over his armor were huge gashes and cuts in the metal, the protective gear mangled from some kind of intense battle. Some places had burn marks from exposure to incredible temperatures, and underneath the armor, his gi was stained black with copious amounts of demon blood, seeping into the cloth and slicking the wounded parts of his body with oil. The armor over his chest had a clean-cut hole in the center, where a long sharp sword stab had pierced his body without mercy. His helmet was nowhere to be found, probably lost somewhere. Clive groaned, feeling hardly any pain, but simply knowing that the wounds were there was enough of a reminder to make him hurt.

That fight… with those three humans… and the horde of demons afterwards… nearly destroyed this body. And… Boomerang… did it destroy him too?

The descent was becoming more noticeable, and by a slight change in the atmosphere, the air was slowly getting warmer. Clive felt a huge heavy weight in his right hand, dragging him down and being a general nuisance. What was he carrying? As he moved his right arm just so that he could grip the object with both hands, they held onto a dark brown leather grip, new and barely used. It was a sword, he was holding onto a sword, Boomerang's sword, Dark Guardian Blade. It was back, huge, clunky and heavy, but enchantingly carved and deadly in battle. The Ka Dingel design on the flat of the blade was smeared in drying demon's blood, not Clive's own, but the life fluid of those hordes of winged demon drones, now stone dead by his hand. Although he had fallen, he had taken a great many with him to the grave.

The blade was far too heavy for him to handle, weighing down his arms and threatening to injure him further. Clive's arms were weak from the battle, and some of the tendons had been cut by the razor-sharp nails of the drone demons. If he wanted to continue his peaceful descent, he would have to let go of the sword. It was not his, anyway, it was Boomerang's, and so Boomerang shall have it, Clive didn't even want to touch the thing. It had been heavy enough in his other dream, he didn't want to have to carry that heavy weight from dream to dream, perhaps even indefinitely. He removed one of his hands, inclining his sword arms away from his falling body, about to let go, then-

"Don't drop the sword!" A voice from within the deepest reaches of his heart cried, with a conviction like no other, "I have lost her once, I do not want to lose her again! Clive, whatever you do, don't drop her!"

Without really thinking, he complied, retaining a firm grip on the handle of the blade. Clive could feel the muscles in his wounded arms strain to keep the sword from being pulled away, as if an outside force was trying to suck the weapon out of the sky. After a while, he knew this to be true, he could feel the unknown force battling with him for the possession of the blade. Clive uttered a word that he would have never said near any of his friends or family and held on, a desperate sense of attachment settling over him in regards to the weapon. It was his, Luceid had given it to him, along with her heart. He would not just throw that away so easily!

Is this familiar to you, Clive Winslett? That same beautiful, angelic voice, the voice of his dreams, and the one heard on the train whispered softly into his mind. Do you not remember this, do you not remember me? Do you remember your promise, my dear, sweet Boomerang…?

The voice emanated from the sword, it was not just a weapon, it was a link, he was bonded to the sword, in mind and spirit, intensely, passionately, he could never let go. Not of the weapon, or of Boomerang, or Luceid, or any of the words, thoughts, feelings, emotions and tears shed over a thousand years ago before his birth. It was so distant, yet so close. Clive could feel the temperature of the air reach an unbearable degree, sweat beginning to bead over his brow and the cool metal finish of his armor beginning to heat up. Finally, Clive understood.

He leant his head back, so he could see the ground immediately underneath him, where the great scorching heat permeated from. This was Boomerang's memory, a memory after a life, where he could not live or breathe or even let go. This was limbo in it's judgmental whole, a period between life and death. When the horde of demons had torn Boomerang's meager body to a thousand shreds, and burnt out the fires of desire once and for all, he had still, in his quiet, yet fierce love for Luceid, managed to keep her blade close to his soul, so that they would be forever intertwined, and never separated again. In this way, Boomerang could say that he truly loved her, even as an accursed demon, and die without regret. He was, after all, still with her, despite death.

This was his fate.

Purgatory.

Though he knew what was going to happen, Clive helplessly flailed as the burning fire and brimstone seethed and smoldered underneath him, the heated earth cracking and spreading open an orifice that would surely catch him with teeth and tongues of ravenous flame, wrapping him up tightly and sending him to the deepest bowels of Hell. Boomerang had sinned, innumerably so, and by dying, it was time for him to atone for his past mistakes. Shaking his head wildly, Clive knew that as he bore Boomerang's body, he would fall with him, and share the same punishment, the same fate. He held onto the sword like a lifeline and wished desperately that this nightmare would finally end.

…Boomerang! Clive shrieked, the earth rapidly approaching his borrowed body, Let me go! I AM NOT YOU!

A pause, and then a quiet, almost paradoxical reply. Boomerang and Luceid both smiled in his mind.

"…Are you?" They replied in question.

The moment Clive hit the fire, long spindly arms with many flexible fingers of grasping power, built out of the inferno itself, snared his armor and melted it upon the touch, wrapping itself around the struggling initiate into the burning realm, gasping out a hiss of some demonic serpent, eyes glowing in the shadows of baking red and black embers, where the cruelest of tortures lurked in wait. Tears were evaporated instantly after they were spilled from his eyes, all the strength from his body dissolving in the hopelessness of Hell. A voice whispered to him through the agony, with a liquidity akin to deadly poison. Atonement through the suffering of one's own sin, to be empathetic, to experience that which you have inflicted upon others, an irony which will be a salvation. Boomerang Flash, we will burn the transgression out of your soul, we will put that burning flame of desire… out…

From the burning coals emerged the likeness of a great monster, serpentine, elongated, with a forked tongue of poisoned fire, fangs deadlier than the deadliest night, coloured an absolute black, a darkness from which nothing could escape. A black hole. Hissing low and threateningly, it extended itself upwards to where Clive was being tortured, and opened it's great mouth wide, welcoming the metal demon into Hell, his new home.

Clive screamed bloody murder, he screamed his throat raw, recoiling from the scene and uttering one last yell that was of hysteria and regret…

xxx

… And from out of that frightened cry, Clive mimicked the action in the real world, but it came out as a long and angered howl, the sound reverberating off the closed stone walls. Before, it had sounded like it had a touch of a human voice somewhere within it, now it just sounded entirely lupine, with no hint to give that the owner of the voice had once been human. Clive was leaning against the wall on his shoulder, barely able to stand up under his own willpower, and panting heavily. The pain from his transformation had faded, but the sense of disorientation had not left yet. Nothing of Clive's mind now resided within the beast, it had faded in the molten fire of his dream, sent to his own aspect of hell, leaving a perfectly good animal mind to take over control in the meantime.

It was now almost impossible to tell that only four short days ago, this creature had once been such a gentle and caring human being. Blood and murder were on his mind right now, hunger and anger, for he still had the distinct feeling that he was here for a reason, one that had not been determined in his mind. Was this a good hunting ground, maybe? Were there any she-wolves around to be had? The beast slid off the side of the wall and dropped to all fours, feeling more comfortable to walk in this manner. He could smell humans and other things here in this cave, and although he was confused by his location, it would not stop him in the least.

Somewhere in the caverns, a little girl screamed.

His ears picked this sound up instantly, and his fang-filled maws adjusted itself in the semblance of a corrupted grin. Children were small, but they still had a fair bit of meat on their frames, and they were also quite easy to corner and kill, even if a wolf was to find himself alone. He would not require a pack to command in order to take down this quarry, just a little bit of stealth and surprise. The beast growled, the noise soon becoming a pleased snarl, he could almost taste the child's blood already, little children would be so tender and sweet…

The monster loped off down the corridor, beginning the hunt.