Gallows's water medium came in quite handy for their uses, the Baskar priest holding his closed hands over the small ceramic cup, a faint icy-blue glow pulsing underneath his palms, directly interfacing with the liquid stored within. He made sure that the refrigerate arcana was unfocussed and weak, if he cast too powerfully, he might freeze the hard-earned antidote instead of just cooling it down. They had to speed things up, for the sun had already just gone down, signalling the beginning of Clive's final transformation. The potion had settled into it's absolute state, a thin liquid that had separated from the more solid mass at the bottom of the cup, maintaining a pure light blue colour.
When the last amounts of steam had departed from the air around the container, Gallows removed his hands and stepped away, allowing space for Halle to get in, the old woman holding something that looked foreign to everybody except for Jet, and this in turn made the boy uneasy. In his murky earliest memories of the past, he had learnt to loathe instruments like that. Unsurprisingly, Jet awkwardly moved away when he recognized the tool in Halle emaciated hand to be a long barrelled syringe, tipped with a wicked-looking needle. This tool was not generally used by the Baskar people, but recently, as civilization and it's advances had begun to expand, even the separatist colony of Baskar had to make a few changes.
Halle stuck the end of the needle into the cooled-down liquid, hooking her gnarled thumb under the catch at the end and drawing it upwards, the empty barrel of the syringe slowly filling with the watery antidote. Isolated from the rest of the concoction, and seen clearly in it's new container through the firelight from under the workbench, the special substance seemed to bear a pale glow, like the silvery face of the full moon. The elder flicked the side of the syringe to let all the tiny little air bubbles out, and applied the slightest pressure to the end of the catch, minute drops of the antidote collecting at the tip of the needle. Satisfied, Halle set the syringe in a small wooden case, just big enough to fit the tool inside, and snapped the hinged lid closed, the task complete. Almost ceremoniously, she passed the box to Catherine, who accepted it with reverence.
"The rest is up to you drifters." The old woman announced solemnly, lowering her hands after the gift had been given and finding her walking stick once more. "Whether you can, or whether you will save him is entirely up to you, the power of your determination, and the limits of your strength. The road you have walked is undoubtedly a difficult one, and it will get even tougher still. This is your choice, but…" She focussed her gaze on Catherine, who looked the most resolved of them all. "A wise person once said that the beginning of a journey can start at the very last stop. Remember that things are always at their worst, before they can be at their best. Take care and don't stumble," She turned to Gallows, "This means you, get it?"
Gallows saluted. "Yes, Ma'am!"
Unable to help herself, Virginia laughed at Gallows's cheerful expression, finding a little bit of relief in the motion. Shane strode up to her and pressed a shining red orb into the drifter leader's hands, the young boy smiling cheerfully. "Here is your teleport orb back. I'm very sorry, I helped myself to it while you were all so busy, and I managed to recharge it for you. It should work one more time now, regardless of the month. I hope you can use it to find your friend." Shane bowed slightly in support. "This is what I can give to you, my blessing and a method of transportation. I will pray to the Guardians for your success, and for the soul of your friend. As a pillar for this planet, and as a human being, it is the least I can do." Shane knew that the lycan would need all the prayer he could get.
Catherine couldn't help but comment. "I find it rather strange," She whispered, "That so many people, friends and loved ones, would pray for the soul of a demon to be saved." The ex-drifter shook her head, "If only he knew how many people loved him… What we are willing to do for him… How hard we have tried…" Taking a deep breath, she continued, looking up at them with a firm expression. "That is why we must succeed. I do not care what he is right now, truth be told, he could be the Devil himself and I would not care. But, with all this pain… I will not let him feel pain anymore, not without me there to share it with him."
"That is exactly the attitude you need in order to save him." Halle pointed out, inputting the conversation. "He will have no humanity left, it is your duty to be that humanity for him. Your husband is in a faraway place, dearie, further away than the furthest star, sleeping somewhere where physical action cannot touch him. You must call his mind back, to the plane of Filgaia, only you can do it, Catherine. You are the only one he can trust the purest part of his soul with, the last grain of his untainted heart. He can give it to no other, except for the one he loves most."
"I know." She replied, her eyes misted over with suppressed tears. "He is lost now, along roads that would scare me deeply to tread, but I swear that I will bring him back home. Even if," Though she was smiling, Catherine sniffed from cloaked sadness, "Even if the light in his heart has gone out, my love will somehow light the way. I am assured of this, without hesitation." Keeping a hold on the precious antidote, she turned to the wall and picked up the discarded sniper rifle ARM, slinging it across her shoulder calmly. It was still loaded with the silver bullets, just to be safe. If anything went wrong, or if the antidote failed, Catherine was prepared to switch back to plan A, she would execute him without indecision, knowing she had done all she could. If anything, she would end his suffering swiftly.
"Though I hate to butt in on this sap-fest," Jet interrupted with the passive wave of his hand, "I need to ask you all somethin'. Uh, exactly where would Ravendor hide out at, and where do you reckon Clive would first head for? How do we know they're in the same place? Do we even know where they are?" It was indeed a good question, and it definitely stumped Gallows and Virginia for a little while.
"Trust me," Catherine answered, opening the front door, "Clive and Ravendor will be in the exact same place. I know where they are. It is the place where so much was taken from all of us. Clive's eyesight, my career, and nearly Ravendor's life. It is the crux of conflict; the place where it all began, and where it all shall end. I know both of them enough to consider this true. It is the only place they would be." Virginia held out the red glowing teleport orb, where each different drifter placed one hand upon it's smooth round surface. Baskar Colony was like a holy ground, so the spell of teleportation would work easily in the area. The Maxwell gang said their final goodbyes to the elder and the pillar with a dutiful nod of their heads in unison, receiving a bow in return. It was now time for them to face their destiny. Catherine said the location of the ruin like one who could never forget it's name, to activate the magic from her old memories, burnt into her mind by a bitter experience.
"X: 20473 Y:8649. Please, take us there."
A light flashed for the span of a second, making it impossible to see. Shane and Halle had to shield their eyes, and when the light was gone, so to had their friends.
xxx
Heading in a different direction from the rest of the bandit team, Ravendor took a hidden path concealed by the constant collection of shadows lurking in the corner of the chamber. He navigated mostly through memory other than sight, counting every thudding step he took and guessing his precise position in the ruin. Clive had arrived a little too early than he had anticipated, and Ravendor was not totally prepared for their confrontation just yet. Protectively, he held his bandaged arm close to his stomach, where it could not be harmed, for he had not fully regenerated into his original form. He would need it in order to destroy the other drifter, to give him a death as messy and as painful as possible. By ceasing to take his medication, the process of recession had begun.
He breathing was quickened by running so fast, hearing a slight change of air pressure as he passed another branching tunnel, ignoring all other paths except for his own. When he heard Kaitlyn's loud piercing scream echo throughout the ruin, he put on the brakes and skidded to an abrupt halt, a little winded, but composed enough to look through the shadows calmly. Why did she scream? Had Clive reached her already? No, if that were so, then she would probably not sound so fearful. The two bandits should have been taking care of her, were they slacking off already? Ravendor remembered they way Romero had been looking at Kaitlyn, and his hands clenched in anger, green eyes narrowing in a poisonous rage. Kaitlyn was to be a hostage, not a victim of abuse!
A light sound of somebody dropping down to the floor with cat-like grace was heard, and the fluttering of black raven wings. Antonio and Kestorael stood at attention in front of him, the former saluting with a militaristic air. The tunnel they were in had a high ceiling, and above the area of the floor, a ridge running in the middle of the wall was the place where Antonio chose to tread, undetected by anybody else. Kestorael went along for the ride, trying to be as helpful as he could. "Boss!" Antonio cried, looking as serious as he could. "You hear that? I think that chica be-"
"I know." Ravendor replied in a dull tone. "I know." He strode over to the small man, looking down on him with a grim expression. "I loathe this, I cannot even trust my own minions. Antonio, let us go and find them. If Romero has done anything to her… I will not be responsible for my own actions." He turned and started to walk down the tunnel again, before looking back at the smaller bandit and changing his mind. "Wait," Ravendor said, "I have a better idea. You and Kestorael go your own separate ways to her, and I will take my own. It will be easier for us both." Antonio was blank for a short while, then nodded and jumped backwards, his fingers catching on the long loose roots of trees fused into the wall, scrambling upwards like a spider with Kestorael flying close behind. Ravendor waited until the two were well on their way, sighing and turning on his heel to the wall, where an inviting shadow awaited his direction.
He felt the shadows embrace him like a long lost lover, drawing him close. In the span of time between the two places of transmission, Ravendor took the deepest breath he could, inhaling pure darkness. It was intoxicating and wonderful, a thousand times purer than oxygen or untainted water. It picked up his failing strength, and let him move onwards. He had to see what was wrong.
xxx
The little girl was thrown into the wall, a curt squeal of pain being uttered before she was grabbed roughly by the arm and pulled to her feet. The way Romero was holding her wrist made it so that she was constantly on her tip-toes, and unable to balance herself properly. Like this, she couldn't properly fight back or struggle very well, at the mercy of the one-eyed bandit. Romero, for one, liked to see the girl get hurt, tossing her around a bit and smacking her face, just strong enough that it might leave her a bruise for a few days. Little girls were always treated like tiny princesses, why not see one belittled for once? To be made to grovel and cry? Then, after that, he could have a little bit more serious fun with her, because she would be much too tired out to fight back, anyway. Romero grinned, he was such a genius.
This fairly moderate game went on for a few minutes until he got bored of her crying and the attempts to wrench herself away, finally tossing Kaitlyn into a little niche in the tunnel, her golden hair flecked with specks of dirt and dust. Her blue dress was filthy, and she looked unmistakably tortured. Curling up, she cradled her head in her arms and cried, the cry becoming a scream as Romero grabbed one of her wrists and pinning it to the wall, doing the same with the other only moments later. Giving it her best shot, Kaitlyn screamed again and managed to kick Romero squarely in the face, trying to make the bad man go away. She was positive that something horrible was about to happen.
Then, there was a sudden flash of white and black, followed by something sharp. It was Romero's time to scream, and he was knocked away, hitting the opposite wall audibly. As he landed, he landed on his feet, and recovered quickly, merely taking a disoriented step away from the wall and looking for his attacker, who retaliated swiftly. There was another flash of motion, which started low and flew diagonally to bypass Romero's shoulder, hitting him in the face. Blood flowed from a wound, and he fell flat on his back, out of the action. Ravendor adjusted his jacket, shaking the tension out of his fist. He had arrived just in time, by the looks of it. Kneeling, he turned to Kaitlyn and touched her shoulder, trying to discern if she was okay or not.
Kaitlyn whimpered sadly, crawling into Ravendor's arms and clinging there, sobbing. The bandit leader was so surprised by the motion that he did not push the girl away as he might have done, but gently patted her on the back and allowed the small girl to cry. Kaitlyn tried to murmur something through her tears, but this only lead to uneven hiccups, which complicated the situation even more. Hesitantly, Ravendor reached his hand up and lightly stroked Kaitlyn's soft golden hair, brushing the dust and dirt out, attempting to calm her down. Gradually, minute by minute, the girl quietened down until she was nearly silent, except for her audible breaths. "If you are able, please answer me." Ravendor said very carefully. "Kaitlyn, tell me what Romero has done to you."
"He, he, he…" She stuttered like a broken record, unable to finish. Sobbing one more time, Kaitlyn looked up at Ravendor and wiped the tears from her face, a light shadow of a large bruise beginning to manifest on one of her cheeks. It looked like Kaitlyn had been struck, several times, and probably, worse had followed after that. With the back of his hand, he touched the bruise, and she shivered. She did not deserve this. What exactly did that blonde bandit do to her? Anger built itself up inside him, and he set Kaitlyn down on the floor, the girl immediately shuffling up close to the wall, huddling tightly with her thin arms around her knees.
Romero, still lying on his back on the ground, drew a hand across his brow and felt the stickiness of blood on his fingertips, leaking from a long gash close to one of his eyebrows. Ravendor approached and leaned over him, the bandages wrapped around the bandit leader's hand slightly stained with Romero's blood. Ravendor had cut him, deeply. One or two of his fingers had burst through the bindings, or more accurately, had sheared through them. What he had left was not reminiscent of a human hand at all, but a scary kind of dark-plated claw, not thick and cumbersome, but thinner and needle-like, similar to the sharpness of wickedly thin blades. Only two fingers were exposed, but that was enough to frighten Romero out of his skin.
When Ravendor reached down and yanked Romero to his feet with those same claws, the one-eyed bandit nearly wet himself. The dark-haired man seemed to have murder in his eyes, pressing the knife-like nails into the soft flesh of his neck, only shallowly, but deep enough to draw a moderate amount of blood. Electricity crackled along his arms, threatening to pass from body to body. "Give me a reason why I should not just kill you, here and now." Ravendor spat, increasing his grip and making Romero choke.
"I-I didn't do anything! I mean, well, not the kind of thing you're probably thinkin' about! B-Boss! Don't hurt me… please… ugh… let me go!" Romero wailed, his sentences punctuated with wheezing gasps as his throat was slowly being constricted. He struggled for a few brief seconds of helplessness, then just let his body go limp, trails of red blood seeping into his green bandanna. Ravendor was undecided, and then spun himself around and slammed Romero into the wall as hard as he could, small chunks of rock rattling loose from the impact. Romero groaned loudly, his head lolling slightly to one side.
Lowering the bandit a little so the man's feet could now touch the ground, Ravendor pressed Romero further into the wall so that the man could find breathing simply impossible. Romero's one good eyes was wide, every tiny intake of air was a struggle for life. Ravendor was throttling him to death. The dark-haired man smiled, but no warmth was conveyed in it, it was hollow, just a motion without feeling. "Innocence is a rarity in this foul, decaying world." He said softly, without any anger. Sometimes acting calm could be even scarier than anger in the first place. "I will not have it lost or taken away. She is a child, she can barely defend herself. She is innocent!" Some of his anger began to return. "You miserable cur! I should destroy you!" Romero felt a tingle of electricity pass through his body, making all his nerves twitch painfully. With that pulse came a horrible feeling of cold in all his limbs, and a temporary loss of vision. It felt as if pure darkness was being pumped directly into his soul.
Dario burst into the scene through the entrance, breathing like he had been running in some kind of marathon. The first thing he noticed was Romero slowly being strangled, and he raced over to both the bandit and his boss, confused as hell. "Boss? What the? What're you doing?! What's going on?!" The emergence of a new voice seemed to snap Ravendor out of his anger, and he dropped Romero out of reflex, the blonde-haired man sliding down the wall and throwing himself onto his hands and knees, taking huge gasping breaths. Sharp slivers of rock from the broken wall bit into his palms, but Romero did not notice them, just glad to be out of Ravendor's grip.
Ravendor, in turn, felt an intense jab of pain shoot through his body, stumbling backwards and off his feet, forced into a short coughing fit. The expulsion of anger had triggered something, and he felt his wings grow slightly in length. Soon, he would be unable to hide them under his long jacket as he had done for the entire day, and he would no longer be himself anymore. Ravendor Begucci would slowly lose control, and Project Dark Angel would most likely take over. If that were so, Ravendor needed that power to be directed precisely at Clive Winslett, not his blameless daughter. If Kaitlyn was going to remain safe, he had to get away from her, as soon as possible.
"Dario." Ravendor breathed harshly, just able to stand, one hand weakly grasping his shoulder and the other clenched in pain. "Do not let Kaitlyn out of your sight, do not leave her alone with anyone. I have to… leave now… I will be back when the time is right…" He limped over to a wall, leaning against it and panting. "Get ready for a fight, you may have to enter battle soon. See to it… that nobody hurts her…" He fell backwards, into the void of a shadow, and disappeared. Dario, still confused, was smart enough to obey as much of the semi-coherent order as possible, seeing to a crying child and leave Romero alone to recover.
He untangled Kaitlyn from her fetal position and she hugged the bearded bandit in unconditional fear, shaking. Her small voice was a tremor, and her soft grey eyes were tumultuous with unknown sadness. "Mister Dario…" She sobbed, clinging onto his dirty white shirt for dear life. "Uncle Ravendor, he's sick. I know he is. I touched him, and something happened, and… and… I know he's sick. I just do! Mister Dario!" Her voice was practically a shriek now. "I can see it! I know it! Uncle Ravendor is… he is…"
Kaitlyn felt something. It was not known to her before, but it felt old, much older than her, and powerful. It was almost… like a distant memory. It was like… some kind of strange bond, as if she had known Ravendor from sometime before, in a place she couldn't remember. There was something else she could feel, though new, a powerful bond had already somehow formed, built on that ancient past. Kaitlyn felt it, just as Catherine felt Clive's pain. For the briefest of seconds, she could remember somebody else… Somebody who had been very close to him… Her old… self…
A girl from seventeen years ago. A girl… that he had loved…
Her voice softened to a breathy whisper, her body going limp.
"He is…Uncle Ravendor is going to die…"