He burst through the barrier of shadow like somebody falling through a thin sheets of paper, landing roughly on his side. The pressure bent one of his wings backward in a way that would have made an ordinary person scream, but Ravendor just clenched his teeth and hauled himself up to his feet, brushing aside dirt. At least his teleport had been fairly accurate, if not a little bit prolonged. Magic like this usually worked much faster. His magical abilities had been winding down, that was the only explanation he had left. Ravendor rubbed away a smudge of dirt on his cheek and looked around, he was in a corridor not too far away from his ultimate destination. This was good, it was better than expected. He smiled, but then smelt blood, the smile fading. It was not his own.

"S…eñor…" Antonio rasped, dragging his wounded body tiredly against the wall, using it for support. He had been smearing a long line of blood across the wall, and it must have been sheer luck that the bandit leader and the wounded companion had met in this way. Antonio's hazel eyes were bright with excruciating agony, and the way he had flung his dead arm against his stomach, he was using it to keep his innards inside. Ravendor turned to him, and narrowed his eyes, taking note of the scene. He didn't even flinch.

The ninja's legs buckled and he sank down to meet the floor, leaving a sticky trail of blood behind. Ravendor straightened the wounded man out and removed Antonio's twitching hand from his shredded stomach wound. The skin had been torn and glimpses of innards had been shown, blood gushing out every time the bandit breathed. His brow was pouring sweat, though he felt cold on the inside, and the fingers on his bitten arm shivered feebly. He was just on the verge of blacking out. "Boss?" He cried weakly, "It… it hurt. How… bad it be?" Having trouble keeping his head up anymore, he drooped, blood trickling out the corner of his mouth.

The bandit leader checked the wounds over with the air of a doctor or scientist, coming to a conclusion rather quickly. "Antonio, you have a copious amount of internal bleeding and several of your organs have been ruptured. There is a good chance of structural collapse and extreme hemorrhage. I am sorry, but the injury seems fatal. You are going to die." Antonio seemed to tremble at his words, his breath deepening to ragged gasps. Carefully, he pulled his fighting gloves off and stared at his bare hands, cold, clammy, and shaky. He felt violently ill inside, but could not find the strength to throw up, his entire mind fixed on the concept, that he was going to die…

"N-no!" He exclaimed, shaking his head weakly and trying his best to disbelieve Ravendor's words. "I no can die! ¡Se equivoca! I have much to do first! I don't want… to go yet. Dios Mio… Please… gods, no…" He couldn't help but cry slightly, regretful of all the things he was going to miss out on. He was dying, he could feel it, but Antonio knew that he had not actually lived yet. He had been looking forward to meeting a lady someday, maybe getting married, maybe even having kids, if he could ever find someone able to overlook his height and speech impediment. As the rest of his blood continued to drain from his body. Antonio threw away his hope for the future, moaning.

"Cálmese." Ravendor said as he stood and shook the blood from his hands, wiping them off on his dark shirt. From that motion, his hand brushed his pistol holster and he drew out his ARM, passing the weapon over to his left hand from his right, because he could not feel very well through the metal plating of his claws just yet, and he would not be able to properly handle the trigger. Though his left hand was not his steadier one, it trusted it far more. Digging in his pocket for a spare bullet, he found one and snapped it into place into his clip, his face grim. "Though you may have suffered internal damages," He informed his dying minion, "It has not made much of a direct impact and your death, though imminent, may be up to a few hours away. It must hurt." He paused to regard Antonio nod weakly at his statement, clutching his stomach so tightly that it must've only made it hurt more. "No se preocupe, Antonio," Ravendor continued, kneeling so that he was at the small bandit's height, "I will stop the hurting."

"¡Espérese! Lo más importente de todo…" He breathed, his mind unconsciously shifting back into his native language. "B-Boss… The chica, she… she say that her padre come back. I try and stop, but… I so badly lose. I sorry." A small puddle of blood was pooling around Antonio's body, and though the pain was not intense enough for him to scream or shriek, it was dull, throbbing, making him feel uncomfortable and weak. In truth, it didn't really feel like he was dying, his body was too numb and cold, but just looking at his wounds made him believe what Ravendor had said. Taking a deep breath, he tried to speak again, forming words around the blood collecting in his throat. "¿No estás… enojado conmigo?" He wheezed.

"Of course not, you are only human, after all." He replied. "But no matter. I will destroy him, you know I am perfectly capable. If you wish me to, I will avenge your death as well." He leaned over, pointing his ARM right in Antonio's face. The black metal gleamed almost evilly, like a reaper's scythe. If it were possible, the small man turned ever paler. "In a vague sense, you can call me a doctor," Ravendor said while flicking off the gun's safety catch, "So I do not consider this act simply murder. I will put you out of your misery, Antonio, it is not in my nature to let my minions suffer excessive pain, outside my own control. You may regard this as… mere euthanasia." The word was foreign, but Antonio knew that it was not a good thing for somebody in his condition to hear.

Antonio whimpered pitifully. "I no wanna d-" His sentence was cut off as Ravendor took the chance to shove the end of his pistol into Antonio's mouth, pressing up against his palate. This was a style of execution, and the ninja knew what was going to come next. He was scared, he freely admitted this, but he still could not help the small trail of tears trickling out of the corners of his eyes as he squeezed them closed.

"Please forgive me," Said the bandit leader solemnly, like he was delivering morbid news, "But swallow this hot lead bullet and it will either send you to Heaven, or to Hell. You will feel no more pain. You will die instantly. This is all I can do, your destination is up to the purity of your soul. Send my regards to the gods, or to the demons for me." Slowly, sluggishly, he pressured the hairline trigger, and Antonio wilted, giving up a tiny pleading prayer. "Goodbye, my friend." Ravendor said, closing his eyes.

He fired.

The result was anticlimactic. A few bits of skull fragments embedded themselves in the wall and blood coated everything, a watery wet 'smack' sounding as Antonio's life was ended, the body once taut with fear, now limp, a corpse. It slid to one side, lying in the puddle of blood, getting it's curly black hair soaked in the fluid. Ravendor rose and snapped open his clip, the unused end of the fired bullet popping out of it's compartment, which tinkled on the ground. The dark-haired man bowed his head and took a moment of silence, Antonio was now at peace. "Adios… amigo…" He repeated, in the ninja's native tongue. He turned away from the body, walking down the corridor. He was almost there, at the final destination.

…How fitting that a dark angel would send a man to his grave…

"Shut up." Ravendor said, holstering his weapon. "You do not exist, you are not real. You are just programming. Leave me alone." No meagre voices were going to stop him from completing his task. He gingerly held a hand to his hurting shoulder as he walked, feeling slightly healthier than a few minutes ago, but still unwell. The voices always came back when he was sick, or in his stage of transition. What he knew was that the thirty-five percent of his human side was slowly dwindling as the other two parts of him increased and grew stronger. It was horrible to experience, and Ravendor glanced with absolute loathing at his dark-plated claw, generated with a mixture of demon and raven cross-mutation. He clenched and unclenched it, stopping in his tracks. Turning, he cried out and viciously assaulted the wall with a powerful swipe, tearing great gashes across it's solid surface. Ravendor sagged against the rocky surface and swore softly, cursing the demons of his past.

They used you, didn't they? They used technology to get whatever they wanted from you, and you became their mindless slave. You did anything you were ordered to, anything, and though you do not remember it, you know what it was they forced you into…Malik especially. Remember what Malik did to you when you were under his mind control? I am sure he does, I am sure that he enjoyed it…

"Be silent!" He exclaimed darkly to his own inner voice. "Do not talk to me about Malik. All you can tell me is nothing but lies. You do not know what happened either, as do I." He said quietly, confessing to nobody in particular. "The first time I died, it changed nothing, and at the same time, it changed everything. Afterwards, I still hated myself for it, for what I had done, even though I had no conscious memory or control. I was controlled… I was a golem… Malik controlled his golem…" Ravendor pushed himself up again and pounded the wall once, not too hard, to vent out his anger. Afterwards, he spat on the ground. It was a vulgar motion, yes, but nobody was around to reprimand him for it. He didn't really care. Walking off, he entered the next room, fiercely depressed.

He was familiar with this area, very much so, and he carefully made a note to step away from the decaying corpse of the slain centaur monster, gathering ants and other insects to come and feast upon the free meat. It was half-eaten, and no longer resembled it's former self, repulsively disgusting. It was not important, but the looming figure of the giant flame golem was, once more immersed in it's deep boundless sleep. It had taken Ravendor's advice, and rested fitfully. The bandit leader approached by walking around the chamber and up a rising ledge that was at the back, curving up into a very small cliff, so that when he stood at it's edge, he was at medium height of the golem's great mass. This was the place.

Now, he waited.

xxx

Jet took the lead, his tracking skills invaluable at a time like this. The small team of drifters followed him down a long thin corridor, sometimes half-blocked by a fallen stone, but still accessible. Virginia closely followed the silver-haired youth, her hands not too far away from her twin pistols, just in case they were jumped at by a creature of the dark. This place was nothing but darkness, made into individuals by the differentiating proportions of shadow. It almost felt like they were in another world, deep under their own Filgaia. Catherine was protected in the middle of the marching order, between Virginia and Gallows, the Baskar priest trailing about two paces behind and acting as the rear guard. If they were back attacked, at least they'd have a slight advantage. This was the way they had been moving, for nearly fifteen minutes now, and Virginia wondered how exactly Jet was tracking Clive when no trail was to be seen.

The android directed their attention to the side of one of the walls, where some strange markings lay. He could tell what Virginia was about to ask, and took the chance before she spoke. "Here, look." He halted, and the rest of the team did so on reflex. Jet touched one finger to a thin series of scratches on the wall, long and thin, so a little hard to see. "He's been through here, and he still seems to be smart enough to keep a track of where he's been before. Clive's been doin' this…" Jet turned around so he was facing the others, and walked back several paces, stretching his hand out to touched the wall again, but positioning his fingers just so that they were upon each long scratch. He walked forward, dragging his hand along the wall and the path that the gashes have made. Virginia understood. If he had been Clive, he would have left deeper marks in the wall from the claws, and using that, he was mapping out the areas he had trekked before. Even as a lycan, Clive must have been showing a slightly human intelligence, perhaps there was still a chance?

So Clive, Kaitlyn and Ravendor are all in this ruin… Catherine thought to herself, toying with the strap on Clive's Gungnir ARM. I hope they are alright, I hope Kaitlyn is safe… Clive, did you find her? Why do I fear so much? And Ravendor, it would have been eleven years… I wonder what he looks like now? I wonder if I will recognize any of them?

Catherine went deathly still. She heard a slight scrabbling noise coming from up ahead, and she tapped Gallows lightly on his shoulder, removing the sniper rifle from it's place on her back. Something felt wrong. "Gallows, I can hear something, can you?" He strained to listen while Catherine motioned for the other two to be quiet, but after thirty seconds of trying, he gave up and shook his head in the negative. Now congregating in a circle, Catherine hated to feel paranoid, but knew it was best for the others to know her assumptions, in case they turned out to be correct. "I am certain that I heard a noise, I believe that something is coming. What should we do?"

"We can't go back now," Virginia replied, "We've come too far. I believe that Jet knows what he's doing, and this must be the right way. If we turn back and take a different route, by the time we find Clive and Kaitlyn, it might be too late for them. I think that we should keep going." She looked to the others, and Gallows seconded the motion, while Jet gave her a small smile. Catherine knew she was outvoted, and that they would continue down this path, so she quietly agreed as well. Hopefully, it was her mind just playing foolish tricks, and nothing more.

So, in a compromise that was discussed quietly in hushed murmurs between them all, they changed position of the order and walked three people abreast in the tunnel, Virginia and Jet on either sides, with Catherine in the middle, Gallows, as always, stayed a little ways behind. They held their weaponry at the ready, in case of attack, and continued forward again, following the markings that Jet pointed out. Soon, the tunnel widened out into a larger chamber, with three extending passageways on the left, right and center. The ones on the sides were tightly blocked off with piles of huge rocks, clogging up the openings, yet the center one was wide and clear, but it turned slightly from it's path a little way in, so it was difficult to see precisely what would come out of that corridor. The scratchings stopped here, and so to did they, as Jet tried to figure out what to do next. He had lost the trail.

Catherine was in a world of her own, thinking. … Strange. When I heard that Ravendor had died, I didn't even cry, not once. Our relationship never really ended, though it was very rocky along the way. I suppose when he died, it was all over, but I didn't really notice that he was dead until I was informed that he died only a room away… I forgot about him, that must make me a horrible person, even if Yggdrasil was one of the reasons I lost my memory. He must hate me…

One question still remained. Why on Filgaia was Ravendor still alive? He was supposed to be dead, written records proved that he was dead. And even so, how did he manage to disappear for nearly ten years, only to reappear now? Catherine was confused, it was a horrible feeling to be left all alone in the dark. Jet said something foul and kicked a small stone lying innocently nearby. He had no idea how to track Clive now. He had searched for footprints in the dirt, but found none, the lycan must have trodden only on the flat surfaces of hard rock, peeking up here and there through the sand and grit. Yes, Clive was showing cunning, he probably knew that somebody would try and stop him.

"You are clever," Catherine whispered to herself while the others sought out a new direction, "But I will still find you, clever or no. You know that I, or better put, you know that the Aegis never gives up. Well, she is here now, and you very well that she has a job to do." She ran her hand down Gungnir's smooth barrel, similar to her old Fafnir ARM, but a little more expensive and with more firepower. It didn't matter, handling Gungnir felt better, anyway. The weapon was old, special, and fired hundreds of times by her husband, manipulated by his spirit. If what Halle had said about aura was true, then the Gungnir must have some of Clive's aura sealed somewhere inside, giving the weapon power.

And in that power, it gave her strength.

xxx

Clive berated himself when he stumbled on a rock and made a loud noise, moving up a corridor he had taken before. As mindless and as primally driven as he had been before, he had still remembered to mark the passages that he had taken, and using them in reverse, he could navigate his way out of here. He didn't know exactly how he was keeping himself upright on two legs, it was a royal pain when he always found himself just about to fall down, and throughout all of that, it hurt his spine badly. Kaitlyn, clinging to Clive and seeing this, tried to squirm out of his arms. "Put me down, Daddy." She said, "You don't have to carry me. I can walk." The lycan paused and looked down at her, tried to say something that didn't really work out, and gently set her down on the ground, going back to all fours soon after. It was just easier this way.

He heard a quiet whispering being carried by the nearly nonexistent breeze, whistling through the ruin. It bore the quality of human voices, and by the looks of it, he seemed to be the only one out of the two who had noticed it. Clive took Kaitlyn carefully by the elbow and led the girl a little ways behind a boulder twice her height, and sat her down, making that same motion he had devised, which clearly meant; 'Sit.' Kaitlyn, confused yet trusting, obeyed without question. However, as he went to go and check out the source of those noises, the little girl called out quietly and made him stop. "You're gonna come back, right?" Kaitlyn asked with a quaver.

"Yresshh…" He answered, slightly nodding his head. Kaitlyn just needed to wait there for a while, and he thought that nobody could get her if she just remained still and hidden. He didn't want to put her in danger, so he had to investigate those voices by himself. Clive wove through the twisting corridor, getting ever closer, and hiding behind every rock formation blocking a fraction of the path wherever possible, listening for movement. The voices got louder as he crept closer, and by straining his ears as much as possible, he could even make out a blurred word or two. In fact, some of the voices even sounded familiar. A few had a feminine quality, and the others were masculine, sending a signal that this group was of mixed backgrounds. Who were they? More bandits?

"… Something… heard it… not imagining…"

"You sure… not… just… wind?"

"…Ginny?"

"I don't know…"

Clive growled, if they were bandits, then they had come here to take Kaitlyn away, again. He had worked so hard to find her, he wouldn't just let them waltz back over and steal her. Kaitlyn was too important, she was precious, to him, to everyone. She had to be protected. If captured again, she would probably just be executed. And then she would die. No. He could not let that happen. He could not let the bandits get away with this. If they truly wanted Kaitlyn back, then they would have to get through him first, and that meant they had better be damn well prepared for a fight. He would kill them, so Kaitlyn could be saved. That was the way things worked, it was the way things had to be. It was hunt, or be hunted.

Hunt?

… hunt…

Against his will, Clive Winslett was pushed away and the beast took control again, gladdened, for no amount of massacre could soothe the burning fire in his blackened heart. Romero and Antonio were only the beginning, the sick little animals to be picked off before the healthier ones could be tracked. This was it, this was the epitome of the hunt. Clive felt his heart race just by thinking about it. The lycanthrope heard laughter come from the hushed group of whispering, which was sharply cut off by a berating voice. This was the best time in which he would catch them off-guard, he had to act now. Clive stood up straight and walked forward, his tail flicking around behind him in agitation. He was going to enjoy this, and for once, he had no restraints left to stop him.

He was free.