(A/N: I wrote this while listening to DJ Carbunkle's legendary FFVII remix, Dying Planet. I love this track, it just kicks so much ass. So as such, it is the perfect piece of music to listen to while reading this. And also, I have one last thing to say. Thanks for all the reviews! I love you guys! )
The ex-drifter stunned even herself by the way she managed to parry and intercept the first blow, the shock from seeing Clive in his lycan form disappearing in a burst of adrenaline. She sidestepped just at the right second as Clive rushed by her, claws out and deadly sharp. Hardly thinking by herself, she caught one of his arms in a grip that was considered strong by people like her, and held back his move, yanking him backwards. Shrugging the Gungnir ARM off her shoulder, she let go and held it in two hands, like some kind of a club. The lycan turned as soon as he was touched, stepping back a few paces to size Catherine up better.
She beat him squarely in the chest with the iron-capped butt of the heavy rifle, the blow enough to knock a regular person out, but still too weak to cause Clive any serious harm. The air was knocked out of his lungs and he was forced back, feeling the soft ache from where the metal had struck. He swiped at her but met only air, Catherine ducking just in time. When she moved back, every step was punctuated by closely dodging another attack, her eyes focussed on Clive's own. He fought like he was defending something, ruthlessly protecting whatever it was that he held dear. And yet, his eyes possessed a strange empty quality, his body acting on orders that his mind had given out, before departing. The animal mind that had integrated into his own was like an automaton, blindly obeying.
Catherine knew, she had to find a way to bring that old part of him back. It must be possible, Halle had said that it could be so, and that she, only she, could bring him back out of it again. She had to try. It was the sole reason for her being here. But then, what could she do? Start slowly, She thought, Try and calm him down first. Then, I will see what I can do. He must still be in there, somewhere. He has to be.
The only way she could think to calm him down would be to weaken him first, allow the lycan to wear out most of his anger and rage, then he might become docile. Catherine knew how to properly defend herself from attacks of a melee persuasion, she had not been called the Defending Shield for nothing. She began to quit dodging each separate blow and started to use the metal body of the Gungnir to parry the attacks, bringing the metal up to slam against Clive's arm and pushing him away. He would probably receive bruises from it later on, but the lycan just snarled and continued, ignoring the pain. He could run from the pain, a useless gun that was made of just metal and human ingenuity.
But he could not run from the piece of his spirit within.
Every strike, along with the blunt sensation of pain and the physical force expelled by the attack, caused some kind of contact between his hollowed-out aura and the spirit of the weapon, interacting, like the blueprint of an organism meeting the real thing. Clive had been corrupted and changed by an outside force, but slowly, little by little, the imprint of his spirit touched his own, and rattled out one of the restraints on his soul, eroding the lycan's curse. Catherine was beginning to sense a change in the ferocity of Clive's attacks, they were weakening in power and execution. His rage was winding down. The monster was beginning to pant from exertion and fatigue, hunching over and growling. Something inside him was… changing.
Fight, fight, fight! …Hunt… kill… kill all! They hurt cub, they die! They hurt cub, they die! …Die!… die!… die…
Wh……What?…ugh… no! No rest, hunt! I can't… I cannot let…them… take her…I cannot let them take her! No, not Kaitlyn!
His final attack didn't end with him pulling up and swiping at her again, as he had currently been doing, but the slash ended up as a grip against Catherine's weapon, holding onto it just as Catherine was. This surprised her greatly, and she tried to pull away, except that Clive refused to let go. The lycanthrope became still, thinking hard, and looking at the person who he had attacked, as if he could not recognize her. Both human and monster went limp, staring at each other and refusing to make a move. It was a tense moment, and Catherine felt like her nerves were going to give out at any time now.
…Know her. See her… before… Person… person…long ago… See her… nice… nice lady… something… Know smell. Smell same…
She pulled down, to drop the weapon, putting pressure on the gun for Clive to do the same. Mesmerized, he also let go and allowed the ARM fall unheeded to the floor, keeping his gaze fixed on the woman of his past. He was just a step away from recognizing her face, her voice, her smell. The desire for destruction faded as the old memories slowly worked their way back into his head, and Clive whined, still not understanding yet. Catherine, acting on sheer impulse, leaned over and hugged the abomination, hugged the creature that had so eagerly tried to kill her, only seconds ago. He merely whined in question, unable to understand. Who was this person?
… Mate?
It all came back, completely, all at once. The red glow in his eyes faded suddenly, replaced by their normal natural blue colouring, making the monster whimper sadly, trying to absorb all the lost information back into his mind, the rush overwhelming, like a great tsunami. For nearly twenty seconds he just stood there, tense as a hairline trigger, his breathing erratic and short. This was almost as bad as the time he had recalled the lost information in Claiborne, except that he had been able to express his pain with words, and communicate it to the others. Clive could do no such thing now, he couldn't even speak. Catherine was clinging to him like a lifeline, and tears welled up in his eyes, regretful, lost. There was only one way to express his pain physically at the time, so he did it.
Clive howled, and no words could ever exist great enough to describe the agony felt within it.
xxx
What followed after that was an intense period of darkness, brought about for some unknown reason, though Clive could have guessed that the emotional strain it had taken on his mind had overloaded him, forcing him into a blackout. He could sense that the night had darkened, but his mind was now returned to his body, and mentally, he was more or less himself again. The lycan wanted to just curl up and disappear, so he could cause others no more grief. He remembered it all now, the suffering of the last few days, on himself, and on his family and friends. Clive hesitantly opened his eyes and exhaled a breath deeply, lying on his side against the wall. For some reason, he felt warmer than usual, and no stones or jagged parts of the rock face bit into his back. Paying special attention to his body, Clive sensed that somebody had their arms about his middle, despite it being covered in dry disgusting blood. Somebody was holding him, closely.
Catherine was by his side, leaning into his shoulder. She was far more awake than he was, her eyes open, yet half-closed. Gungnir was propped up nearby, a few feet away, and dented by his repeated attacks against it's surface. It would really need some new repairs soon. Clive wasn't paying any attention to it, though, still confused to what was going on. One of his ears twitched when he realized that Catherine, thinking him still asleep, was humming soft words to him, in a half song, half chant, huddled against his body. It was a song that she always sung to Kaitlyn when the little girl was feeling scared from nightmares, or other horrible dreams. Why was she singing it to him, now?
On the far western plains,
Hears the winds and
Sleeps when it rains
Safe in his mother's arms.
Looking like a sleepy head,
Stars are quiet in the skies,
Little child now close your eyes."
It was a verse like this that made Clive sometimes wonder if Catherine had any known Baskar blood in her family lineage, though when he had asked her about it on many occasions, she did nothing but deny it. Nevertheless, he also knew that Catherine's mother had died close after her birth, and that the song was the only thing she had left of her. Clive had always been glad to know that her mother could still live on, in another form. This was also the same reason that he named Kaitlyn after his deceased adopted sister, to spur a memory onwards. The words, they made him feel sleepy, and at the same time, totally calm. Catherine had followed him, she had taken her own path, and it had led her straight back to his side.
He rolled over, whimpering and wrapping his arms in turn around Catherine's waist, trying his best not to cut her with his sharp claws. She looked at him, and smiled. "Is that you in there, Honey?" She asked, calmly and quietly. "If you can understand me, nod your head, please. Can you do this for me?" He paused, sniffing, and nodded under her command, warmed up by her body heat. He had none, and it was wonderful to experience the loving touch of another once more. He was a little too overwhelmed at the moment to even ponder how Catherine had gotten there in the first place. Actually, it didn't matter. She was here, and that was all he needed.
Catherine carefully rolled up the sleeve on his left arm, limp from Clive trying to keep himself under control. She leaned back to look at her husband, his head down and shivering, torn into pieces by the knowledge of what he had just done. He could see Virginia lying a few feet away, out cold, and pale from the jolt into unconsciousness. Jet looked far worse, his arm twisted at a truly unnatural angle. Gallows just seemed like he was in a very deep sleep, drained of nearly all of his power. Catherine gently touched the side of Clive's face with the back of her hand, brushing out small traces of dirt from his fur. He whimpered, but remained still, afraid to move. "You are going to feel a tiny sting, Clive." She said quietly, parting a small section of his fur to search for one of the veins running down his arms. Some of it was matted with blood, both red and black, but she ignored that and located the correct spot, opening the wooden box that Halle had given her. "It will sting, and then it will begin to hurt a far lot worse. I cannot make the hurt go away, but I can bring your old body back, I think. Please, be patient."
He felt the tiny prick of a needle pierce his skin, virtually painless, until a dull burning began to spread from the contact point, through his veins, the antidote working it's way into his bloodstream as directly as possible. At first, it burnt like one placing his hands very close to a lit fire, just warmth and discomfort, but then the real pain began to kick up, and Clive broke into a instant sweat, gasping and suddenly incredibly thirsty. He felt hot and cold at the exact same time, and his nerves, agitated by the potency of the antidote, writhed under the torment that consumed it, agonizingly horrendous. Clive cried out, tensing every muscle in his body. It felt like somebody was pumping pure silver into his veins.
The ex-drifter grabbed his wrists and tried to hold him down, wondering why the tranquilizer built into the antidote had not kicked in just yet. He had been severely weakened, and she was just barely able to keep the lycan down as he twisted and squirmed in suffering. Halle had been absolutely correct, this was exactly like a drug withdrawal, and it took all the strength she had left in her arms to keep Clive from scratching his own eyes out in hysteria. His fur became slicked down with sweat as the curare finally settled itself into his system, his limbs going numb, though the lycanthrope still whimpered and whined like a frightened animal, shivering. He was clenching his sharp dagger-like teeth as tightly as possible, and she saw that blood was beginning to drip out of the edge of his mouth, cutting his gums with his own teeth.
With a flash of inspiration gained from her mind working at a mile a minute to think of something to ease Clive's hurting, she let go of one of his wrists for a moment to tear off the red hair-band she always wore, the cloth thick and well woven. This idea came from the night when she had given birth to Kaitlyn, when Clive had done the exact same thing, for her. Moving quickly, she wrapped the cloth around her thumb, doubling the digit in it's thickness and making it well-padded. She sat up, leaning over him, and used her most forceful and direct voice, to reach him through his haze of pain. "Clive!" She exclaimed, nearly sharing his torment, "Please, listen to me! Bite down on this, so you do not bite your tongue!" For a long time, it seemed that Clive did not hear her, or could not understand, until he finally tilted his head up and bit down with vice-like ferocity on her thumb, prompting Catherine to cry out from the pain it produced.
What am I doing? She asked herself as she felt the flesh of her thumb being squeezed to the limit of it's endurance. He is going to bite it off if the pain does not subside soon. Oh gods, that hurts… But she remained there, now lying across his front, one arm flung around his back, the other one suffering under Clive's powerful jaws. Clive, in turn, was hugging Catherine so close to him and crying, as every cell in his body felt like it was being turned inside out.
Gradually, Catherine began to sense that the sharp pressure on her thumb was beginning to decrease, Clive's teeth becoming blunter and blunter by the second. She heard the sickly sound of bone crunching with a constricting sound, and both of them closed their eyes to the outside world, only having each other to share in their hurt. Finally, after seemingly an eternity of waiting, Clive let go of Catherine's hand and her hair-band slipped off her thumb, slightly bloodied, but generally intact. He went deathly still and let out one great big shuddering breath, tears and sweat running down his face. Catherine felt like she was going to pass out, until…
"Cather…ine…?" He whispered weakly, hands sliding off her back and to his sides. She tilted her head up, to see his face, and met his blurred, almost frightened blue eyes, set in a human-looking face. He smiled at her, out of sheer relief. It was over. They both cried out at exactly the same time and hugged each other, overjoyed to be reunited once more. Clive could not believe it, this was just far too good for him, it was like everything was unreal, surreal. Sighing, he finally looked over the area and found nothing of interest, not that he was looking for anything, just so busy being grateful for Catherine's presence.
And then he felt a small burn across a cut on his left arm, probably caused when he had dragged one claw across his arm during the activation of the antidote. The cut was deep, and now that he was himself again, it would probably take about a week to heal. He didn't care, he never really wanted all those special powers in the first place. He was content to be himself. Clive Winslett, forever. But, thinking for a second and focussing on the injury, he immediately realized one thing, and he bit his lip in confusion.
The cut, still open, was leaking blood. His blood. It was as black as the midnight sky, running down his arm like sandcraft oil.
Clive felt numb again, but not from the effects of the antidote. Carefully, he ran his tongue over the tops of his teeth, feeling the continued presence of his sharp canine fangs. He twitched his tail. It was still there. Looking back down on the open cut, it was now gone. His healing factor continued to work. Clive was still a demon, after all this, he still had one foot on the threshold into Hell. Did this mean that his curse and the demonization were two separate inflictions? They were not connected? Then why did they both happen at exactly the same time? Why was he still a demon?! Had he not suffered enough?!
…This means that whatever Catherine did to me… it did not completely work. Or maybe it did, and I am just meant to be a demon forever. What is the meaning of this? Why did this happen? Why did I change so suddenly, if the curse had nothing to do with it? Why am I still so damned, so destined to Hell? What is the purpose of these dreams I continue to experience?!
… Oh my gods…
I have realized this now… I still cannot have any interaction with Catherine or Kaitlyn. I can still hurt them, even now. They saved me, but I cannot be cured. I am a lost cause… I am meant to suffer… And as long as they know me, and love me, they will suffer too… They will be in misery, because of me! No, I will not let them suffer, I will not let that happen… Even… even if I never see them again…
"Get off me." He said darkly, pushing Catherine away.
She didn't dare resist him or the motion, getting up and stepping away. Clive's eyes looked dull, tired, and seeming to be filled with knowledge that she couldn't even begin to fathom. The drifter used the wall to push himself up to his feet, healed from nearly all previous injuries. All that remained now was an immense weariness that clung stubbornly to his body, making him weak and almost pitiful to look at. Catherine didn't care though, now she had her husband back. "Honey?" She asked, unsure, "Are you alright?" The sniper felt through the objects in his coat pocked once more and retrieved his glasses, putting them back on. However, his expression looked absolutely haunted, unable too look up at her, staring only at the ground.
Clive's voice was an angsty whisper. "No," He replied, leaning against the rocky wall, "I never will be again." His shirt had been torn by some kind of long slash marks, the wounds underneath having disappeared through healing, or Catherine's cure. Now, she could see no fur under the clothing, or anywhere else, except for on his tail, which had still been left behind. She guessed that for some parts of him, they had been a little too late. Clive adjusted his glasses, brushed a smudge of dirt off his cheek, and sighed. "You have beaten the monster inside of my heart, but the deeper evil, the fouler, hate-filled entity, he still lives. That entity, is me." He continued, ashamed of his existence. Clive patted himself on the chest once, to give his declaration emphasis, and even he himself could feel the frost contained within his body, the corruption, the hate. He was filled with hate. His very existence was hate.
Catherine took a step forward, and in reflex, Clive took one step to the right and backwards, seeing that he was already up against the wall. "That cannot be true." She breathed, confused. Clive merely remained silent, downcast. "You are yourself again, right? We did everything we were instructed to, we have broken the curse, haven't we?" He did not reply, he could not reply, anything he could say, it would only be an empty lie. But, the truth would hurt her far worse than a lie ever could. What could Clive do? What could he say? Catherine let out a shuddering breath and looked down, eliminating his need to reply. She already knew. Without lifting her head to face him, she stated what she believed or assumed to be the truth. "You're not human anymore, are you." It was not a question. "Even with the antidote… We have failed…"
"No." He answered, in the same voice he always had, but the deep schism forming in him was undeniable. He wasn't human, wasn't anything now. "You never failed, Catherine," He replied, shaking his head sadly, "You tried your best, nobody could ask for any more than that. I am the one who has failed, I have failed everyone, Virginia, Gallows, Jet, and especially you and Kaitlyn. Oh gods!" The demon fought away a wave of shame, mixed with self-loathing. "If only I could have remained human for her! She will not have a father anymore, Catherine, I am so sorry!" Clenching his bloodied hands into fists, he shook with anger, rage, and frustration for everything he believed himself to have caused. It was all his fault, and it hurt him so much that it tired him, making the demon sag, the rage spent.
Slowly, Catherine looked up, to see Clive's new form, his demon form. It scared her greatly, even more than his lycan incarnation, because she knew that her husband's soul was present, and not just the body and mind of a mindless animal. He wasn't mindless, he had a soul, but it was now sin-bound, ready to be sent back into Hell. Clive was as pale as one with dire anemia, his light blue eyes bearing a quality of frost, deathly cold, and within that, immense sadness coupled with fear. He was scared. He seemed to radiate something that suggested an otherworldly presence, and when he closed his eyes and smiled faintly, almost out of fright, because she was looking him over, checking him like a specimen, he exposed one or two sharp, gleaming fangs. This was who he was now, the old Clive Winslett, he was dead. It was almost as if this new Clive had killed him, smothered the human inside until it had suffocated. This was the demon, the murderer, the one responsible for so much pain. He had murdered himself, the human part of his soul. After a long moment of silence, Catherine looked away, sharply, hating what she saw. "I can't look at you, Clive… I'm sorry…"
For a second, he didn't respond, but he understood. He could barely stand to see himself; he couldn't imagine what this must be like for somebody like her. Catherine didn't want him, the twisted and damaged body, the fractured soul. Her soul was pure, spotless, how could she ever love a demon such as he? Clive couldn't bring himself to blemish something like that with his existence, not anybody, not Catherine. But still, he didn't want to leave her. He felt alone, afraid, without her guiding presence, and her beautiful, grey eyes. Clive would have given anything in the world to see those eyes smile at him once more, for one last time. "Catherine…" He was timid, unsure, and every word he spoke was like a journey into the dark. "Catherine… will you… touch me?"
She imagined touching his cold, clammy skin, holding together bitterness and evil, and sunk to her knees, hands over her face, crying. "I can't! I can't…" She sobbed, shoulders shaking with the words. Clive lowered his blue eyes and turned his face when he saw Catherine's reaction, his chest tight with suppressed emotion, too many feelings to be separately identified. He could see it, his inner voice had been correct. She hated him, just as he hated himself. It was the right thing, to hate a demon, but even so, he still expected somewhere in the back of his heart and mind, that there would still be a flicker of light left in the darkness. It was a shock to know that the light, ever present, had just been an illusion, born of false hope. His light had gone out.
She does not cry for me, she cries for herself. She cries to understand that the entity once believed to be her husband has changed while she remains the same, and has accepted a fate that will distance himself from her, and her daughter. She cries because she has lost something… Not me… She does not care for me… Nobody can…
Clive moved over and sat down in front of her, also on his knees, his eyes overshadowed by the darkness caught in the lenses of his glasses. He had never felt such fear before, the chance of being hated by a loved one. His Catherine, he knew that she hated him. Lightly, he placed his ungloved hands on both of her shoulders, the woman tensing sharply from the contact, and the feeling of cold flowing into her body via the connection. He paused to experience the powerful sensation of warmth that radiated from her body, it felt so good, and therefore, never meant for him ever again. But he wanted this, wanted one last moment, the time he needed to say goodbye. "It is okay… just, just please stay with me for a while, for a minute. Please, please look at me…"
Oh gods, please look at me. Please touch me. Do anything, Catherine, anything, just do not turn away… Don't leave me alone… I can't stand to live alone… I don't want to be alone…
And she obeyed, raising her head to look upon his pale face. It only took a second, and Catherine choked back a sob, squeezing her eyes shut. Tears escaped down the corners of her eyelids, her breathing uneven and harsh. It felt like her heart was going to give out at any moment. Crying out loud, she grabbed him in a fierce hug, tight, for solace, for an escape. It had all gone wrong, and in their failure Clive was left to spend the rest of his life as a demon. How could he stand it? How could he stand to live with himself? Catherine sniffled and told him, "This was not your fault, Clive." He shook his head in response, disagreeing. For a brief second, she saw an image of Clive standing outside the front of their house, ARM slung securely behind one shoulder, watching the horizon, just as the sun came up. It quickly vanished, like a dying breeze. She would never see that part of him again. "But I… But I cannot change it… I cannot help you… Gods, I wish I could help you…"
The demon could barely keep his own tears away, and with Catherine's head resting against his neck and under his chin, they fell onto her light brown hair, soft and silky to the touch. "I understand," He said quietly, moving one hand around to support her back, "But you need not do anything, Catherine. I have brought Kaitlyn back… She is nearby… I promised that I would… And now, just please stay with me… stay with me, just for this moment…" He was quavering, still somehow afraid to touch her, just in case he hurt her. His hand rested only a millimeter away from her soft cheek, hesitant. He just couldn't bear to hurt her again, with words, with feelings, or with force. But, Catherine's hand came to rest over his own, pressing his own against her cheek. It only made her feel colder, but the touch was enough, just to know that it came from Clive.
"I want to…" She whispered, trying her best to ignore the intense cold of the contact with him, though it numbed her body and made her feel anxious and sick on the inside. It nearly seemed like his very touch was poisoning something deep within her body, which wasn't really surprising, considering what he was. "I love you. I don't care if you are a demon. Please, don't hurt yourself anymore. When you hurt, I hurt, I can feel your hurt… Please, Clive, Honey… I will stay with you. I will love you." Carefully, she dragged his hand away from her cheek and held it against her breast, entwining their fingers together and not letting go. She sighed, sinking into his chest, but Clive, surprisingly, pulled away, like he had suddenly decided that enough was enough, or as a reaction to one of her words. He wanted to have a moment, and it was now over.
He was introverted, looking away. Without conscious thought, he pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose and sighed. Clive sat back, cross legged, and looked up at the darkened ceiling, almost impossible to see. There was a sky somewhere above it, though it was now hidden. The next few words he would have to say proved to be the most difficult ones of his entire life. Catherine looked down and slightly to the right, feeling warmth return to her body now that Clive had let go. She felt ashamed to admit it herself, but the release had been a big relief. "You say you will love me, that you will stay with me…" The demon's voice was a dull monotone, his face expressionless. "But look!" He smiled hollowly, out of his own ironic misfortune, "You can barely even stand to look at me, let alone love me!" The emotion in his voice picked up as he continued, standing up. "I am poison! I hurt you! I hurt everyone! No matter what I try to resolve, all I do is hurt them…"
Catherine's reply was just as burdened with pain as Clive's was, her hands clenching in agitation. "What do you wish for me to do?!" She cried, "Do not just remain ambiguous! Tell me your problems, share them with me. As your wife, it is my duty to share your pain." She met his gaze, hardened by contempt to both her, and the world. She had never seen those blue eyes hold so much hatred before, like he had been saving it up inside his mind for years and years, and it finally had a perfect chance to come out again. Clive never had a mother or father, he was denied his childhood by living as a common ruffian, and his best friend had betrayed him in the most horrible way possible. To top it all off, his mind had been merged with a monster's, and his body replaced by a demon's. Clive had a lot to be hateful about, was this his true self? Had the other Clive Winslett, the one she had married, just been a lie?
The metal demon, spat on the ground, folding his arms across his chest, much like the way Boomerang used to do when he didn't want to be talked to. He used a blunt, gruff way of speaking, because if he tried to show any tenderness at all, the effort and emotion would have destroyed him. He had to be numb, he had to seal off his pain, it was the only way he could continue forward, and protect both himself and the others. Clive had to be cruel to be kind, because if he were to even try and stay with his friends and family, he could keep no promise that they would be safe around him, when he possessed such great power. The power meant responsibility, and he would not let himself become responsible for Catherine or Kaitlyn's deaths. He had enough death piled upon his shoulders already. He loved his family, he would not watch them die.
"What I wish for you to do…" He answered, his tone final and solemn in the air. "I wish for you to leave me. Take Kaitlyn with you. I want you to never speak to me again, never touch me again. I want you to go away, and never come back." He bowed his head, tears dripping under his glasses and along the bridge of his nose. The words enough, killed him. They burnt into his very soul. But he did not let Catherine see this. To the outside world, he had the perfect calm of a true metal demon. Clive took one last breath to continue, sliding his eyes closed.
"I never want to see you again." He said.