He drifts, drifts, drifts away…

He's moving. Freed can feel his body moving, but it's distant, as though it's someone else's body and for a moment he dares to hope that it's a dream, a nightmare that he just needs to wake up from. It takes him longer to remember the Demon's triumphant words 'I found a way to remain free, forever…' and longer still to realise that this is reality, that he can feel the rise and fall of his chest, a chill on his skin, as power crackles in the air around him.

A power that is in equal parts familiar and unfamiliar.

He's drifting away again, struggling to focus, to put a finger on what is going on. His memory feels as though someone has gone through his thoughts and jumbled up the pieces, stealing certain elements, and leaving him with a confusing mess of images that make something, he just can't make sense of. Laxus, where is Laxus? Where are the others? He can remember being with them, remembers laughing and joking, a simple job then to make up for the spate of more challenging jobs they'd taken, and so that they could rest. Remembers flashes of orange and an older voice barking orders at them. That wasn't here, he was sure of that, even though he wasn't sure where this was, but that place… a restaurant, had been warm and welcoming, the air flooded with delicious smells and smoke… Bickslow had burned something… or had that been Laxus, lightning streaking down from the sky, but why? Why would he use that on that job? Something is missing, something that has fear coiling just beneath the surface, strong enough to piece the haziness of his memory, because while he can't remember what it is, he remembers being afraid.

But, what of…?

He's scared now, he realises, because even that fear is distant. As though a blanket of snow has fallen over him, muffling the world, chilling him to the bone, leaving him quivering and shaking in the dark. Where is he? What is going on?

Mist.

He remembers mist, or at least he thinks he does. Maybe he's mistaking it for the darkness that lingers around him now, a barrier between him and the world, and whatever it is that he's trying to remember. No. That mist had been different, it had burned and choked him, threatening him…them…he remembers Evergreen falling, remembers Bickslow collapsing, remembers… he doesn't remember what happened to Laxus. But, the Dragon-slayer had been there, he's sure of it, in the way that he's sure of nothing else right now. Laxus had been there, but he's not here now, because Freed can't feel the pressure in the air beside him, the static that would warn him that Laxus was close. And he's alone in the dark, and Laxus would never leave him alone, the other man knowing that is one of his greatest fears for all that he's never spoken it aloud, never protested splitting up on a job…

… was that what this was?

Had he confused what job they were on? Had they split up and Freed run into trouble? That didn't feel right, because as confused as he was, he had the impression that time had passed. Too much time. So, where were the others? Where was he?

He pushed against the darkness, panic wreathing the fear rising in his chest, and something took notice. He wasn't sure how he knew. There was no shift in the air around him, the movement that felt so distant continued, his body being borne somewhere he couldn't see, couldn't prevent, but it was as though the world had paused to watch him. He felt raw and exposed under that gaze, and there was a menace to it that had him reaching for his magic, not sure if he was in any state to fight but refusing to just bow down in defeat. The others would be looking for him, Laxus would be looking for him, he was as sure of that as he had been about Laxus having been there in his memory, sure enough, to fight.

There's no magic. Not even a spark, but there's something else.

Something dark and vile.

Something evil.

It's the Demon, the part of him that he tries to deny so often, that he keeps buried under magic and rules and tight self-control, but at the same time, it's not. It's too powerful, too dark, as though the humanity he forces on that part of himself has been stripped away until all that remains is a void. Where are you? He thinks and hates how pleading it sounds, how desperate, and the feeling of being watched intensifying, until it feels as though there must be eyes all around him, and yet nothing shows in the darkness. WHERE ARE YOU? He screams, but there's no sound in the darkness around him, but something reaches for him, trails clawed hands across his face, roughly enough that he imagines that there must be bloody furrows left behind, and then there's breath against his ear, colder than night.

Here.

It feels almost as though they're chasing a ghost, because Freed – or the Demon wearing his skin, seems to have vanished without a trace. Laxus won't admit it aloud, but that worries him because the Demon has never made any bones about what it wanted to do to them if it ever got free, to him and Ever and Bickslow who had brought Freed back from the precipice time and time again. I wonder what he would do without his anchors, the Demon had whispered to him, claws buried the deep the last time they'd fought, a final defiance as Laxus had ignored the pain and held Freed close as the Rune Mage fought his way back to the surface. The Dragon-slayer hadn't had an answer for it at the time, and worse the Demon had known it, twisting Freed's lips into a terrible smirk before subsiding. He didn't know if Freed remembered that incident, prayed that he didn't, because he knew that Freed worried about what he could do them already, and didn't want to add to his burden. But, now, with the Demon on the loose and no idea if Freed was going to be able to come back from this – another thought he wasn't going to voice – he couldn't help but remember that threat.

He knew the answer because it was the same reason that Freed had sacrificed himself from the mist. If Freed lost them, then he would have no reason to fight, no reason to come back to himself. Which was why, he knew the Demon wanted to destroy them, because as much as they were Freed's anchors, they were the Demon's chains.

So, why would it flee?

Was it hoping that if it had more time alone to bury Freed deep inside, that it would be able to stop them pulling the Rune Mage back to the surface? That was a possibility, but a risky one, because Laxus knew Freed, had never met or loved anyone so stubborn in his life, and he knew that time alone wouldn't be enough to make Freed stop fighting. If anything, it would strengthen his efforts, because Freed would want to come back to them, to him, and not just because they were friends or rather family, because Freed as stubborn and independent and strong as he was, hated being alone. Hated it even when only one of them was missing for a short time, which was one of the reasons Laxus' banishment had been so hard on him. And why Laxus had been so instant on taking the punishment himself, refusing to tear Freed away from the others, from the guild that he needed even if he wouldn't admit.

The Demon would know that. Freed had once admitted that while he could keep himself and the Demon separate, it wasn't so easy to do with memories, thoughts and feelings. That just as he knew the anger, desperation and hunger for violence of his demonic counterpart, the Demon knew his vulnerabilities, the cracks in his composure. So, it wouldn't be time, or at least not solely. Was it the barrier particles? Laxus doubted that they would have much impact on Demons like the one he had thought. Otherwise, it would be a foolish weapon to keep around, but Freed and the Demon were two sides of the coin, serving as each other's strength and weakness for all that it was a strained, broken relationship. Could it be that Freed and his magic and humanity, had weakened the Demon, making it susceptible to the particles? Perhaps, he should have taken the time to ask if Porlyusica had known more, but he had a feeling that if he'd remained any longer, then she would have spoken up more vehemently and tried to stop him leaving.

The other possibility and the one that he least wanted to contemplate was that the Demon had a plan. Plans were dangerous. Especially when all he and the others had was a vague idea to head for where they'd last heard Natsu was, knowing that the other Dragon-slayer had a nose for trouble, and was the most likely of all of them to run headlong into Tartaros. Was it hoping that they would welcome it as a fellow Demon, even though Freed was nothing like the one that had attacked them? Or hoping, that Tartaros would have some way of helping it keep Freed contained…?

"Laxus?" A quiet voice interrupted his rapidly darkening thoughts, and he looked up to find Evergreen and Bickslow watching him warily, and it took him a moment to realise the air around them was filled with static, making their hair stand on end. "What are you thinking?" Evergreen asked as he forced himself to take a deep breath, slowly clenching and unclenching each finger in turn, once, twice, three times before the static in the air had reached more bearable levels. Keenly missing the way that Freed would step up alongside him whenever his control wavered like that, sometimes settling him with just a look or a quiet word, other times with fingers brushing his arm, or pressing against him, grounding him in the same way that he kept Freed anchored.

Freed…

It takes him a moment, and Bickslow carefully clearing his throat to realise that they're still waiting for an answer, and part of him wants to snap and snarl at them. To tell them to stop looking to him for answers, or leadership, because as much as the Raijinshuu follow and support him, it's always been Freed who is their Captain, and that isn't a role he can fill. It's not a role he wants to fill, because doing so would feel like taking a step closer to admitting that maybe just maybe they won't get Freed back this time, and he knows, even as his heart sinks in his chest that, that is a dangerous path to take. But they're here, and he can see the worry in their expressions – for him, as much as for Freed, and not because they follow him, but because they know that Freed would want them to watch over him in his stead. Just as Laxus knows that if…when they find Freed, they will be there, ready to do whatever it takes to bring Freed back, and it's that which softens his mood, and if his tone is a little sharp and strained, they're kind enough not to acknowledge it.

"I was trying to work out what the Demon might be doing, and why it hadn't come straight for us." They both know about the Demon's threat, he had filled them in as Freed had slept under their watchful eyes the night after that fight, swearing them secrecy.

"It might think we're dead," Bickslow offered after a moment of contemplation. "I don't get the feeling we were supposed to survive that attack."

"Let's meet in Hell dead ones…" Laxus repeated with a frown. That was an angle he hadn't considered, and it's not a pleasant one, because if the Demon believed they were dead, then what did Freed think? That his sacrifice had been too late? That it had been for nothing? As bad as the other options were, not that there were any good options in this situation, he prayed that Bickslow was wrong because that was the kind of thought that could break Freed long before they got to him.

"Freed told me once, that he would know if something had happened to you, to any of us," Evergreen murmured, and they both turned to look at her. Bickslow tilting his head in confusion while Laxus was still, watching, waiting…hoping, for something that would quell the rising surge of fear that Bickslow might be right with his suggestion. "We talked about it once, during the time that you were…gone." Laxus grimaced, none of them was comfortable talking about that time, and while they had moved forward and grown closer because of it, he couldn't help but think that maybe they should tackle the subject. Later, when Freed was safe and with them once more so that Laxus could hold him close. "We hadn't heard anything about you for a while, and I knew that he was worried, but when I asked him, he smiled and told me that while he was worried, he knew that you were okay. That he would know if something had happened to you, just as he would know if anything ever happened to Bickslow or me, even if we were far away."

"He said that…?" Bickslow asked.

"I thought that maybe he was lying, trying to stop me from worrying about him, but it was written across his face. He believed every word he was saying," Evergreen said by way of an answer, glancing at him, before focusing on Laxus. "I don't think that will have changed, if anything, I would say that it would be stronger than ever since you, you know…" She waved her hands, a little awkwardly, well aware that neither he nor Freed were fans about discussing their relationship more than necessary. That development had been long overdue, and as natural as breathing as they fell into the new rhythm, and while it had caused some excitement in the guild, Evergreen and Bickslow had been kind enough to just go with the flow, albeit with the odd fond and or exasperated look.

Laxus wasn't sure whether to draw comfort or not from her words. On the one hand, it warmed him to know that Freed had felt that certain about them, even when he had left him with little more than a promise to return to them…him…one day. On the other, it chilled him that he didn't have that same certainty. Or did he? He closed his eyes for a moment. Freed. He wanted to believe that the Rune Mage was okay, that he was out there, and that even if the Demon was still in control, that he was fighting for it and waiting for them to come, that he believed they were alive and would come for him. On the other hand, he couldn't entirely silence his doubts and fears, because before Freed and the Demon had always been right there in front of him, close enough for him to touch, and now he had no idea where his partner was.

But…

He did know Freed. Knew that he would be fighting, or that if he couldn't fight that he would hold on as long as possible, and beyond, for them to come, because Freed's faith in them, in Laxus, was as unwavering as his determination to protect them.

So, how could Laxus believe any less?

"Freed knows that we'll be coming for him," he said finally, opening his eyes once more, and the air around him was still once more, his magic back under control. "We just have to find him, and drag him back, kicking and screaming if needs be." He knew that was closer to the truth than he wanted to admit, because the Demon always fought them, but this time, having had time to get its claws figuratively and possibly literally into Freed, it would be harder to contain.

"About that…?" Bickslow started hesitantly, and Laxus gestured impatiently for him to continue. "We're going to need Freed's magic to get the Demon back under control completely, but if he was as affected by the Barrier Particles as we were…"

Laxus honestly wasn't sure which of them cursed first, him or Evergreen, not that it mattered as they turned the air blue for a moment. He had been so focused on the Demon being in control, and everything else that might entail, that he hadn't stopped to consider the fact that Freed had inhaled far too much of that deadly mist, and that just because the Demon had taken over, it didn't mean it would be able to affect.

"We could go back, see if Porlyusica has more of the cure?" Evergreen suggested.

"But…" Laxus started to protest. The guild was behind them, doubling back would cost them precious time, and they were already too far behind Freed as it was, and there was the possibility that if they went back, Porlyusica wouldn't let them leave a second time. It wasn't that he couldn't see the sense in the suggestion, but time was against them, and they could always drag Freed – demonic or not – back to the guild and the cure once they had found him, even if that would be easier said than done.

"We're going to have a fight on our hands anyway," Bickslow cut in, even as Laxus opened his mouth to voice his thoughts. "It's been getting harder to pull him back, you know that." Laxus did know that it didn't mean that he wanted to hear it put into words and he scowled at Bickslow, who frowned back unrepentantly, and abruptly Laxus was struck by how far they had become. Because there had been a time when Freed had been the only one who had dared to consistently speak up against him, the other two choosing to let him fill that role, and maybe it was just because Freed wasn't there to do it that they were stepping up, but Laxus had a feeling that it was more than that, and so he nodded. "Having the cure on hand would at least give us a chance to throw Freed an extra lifeline, to help him fight back against it."

"Plus, if we manage to bring the Demon back under control and it's presence was shielding Freed from the Barrier Particles…" Evergreen added.

Laxus hesitated for a moment. He didn't want to turn back, not knowing that Freed was out there somewhere, and yet he couldn't deny that their arguments made sense. In the end, it was the fact that he knew that they were as worried for Freed as he was and that they wouldn't suggest a delay unless they thought that it was absolutely necessary that decided him. Wait for me, he thought, looking out the way that they had been heading, hoping that Evergreen was right and that Freed believed they were all right and that they would come for him. "We get the cure, and then…"

Whatever else he had been planning to say was lost, as a massive explosion rent the air behind them, the ground beneath their feet shaking with the force of it and sending them stumbling. Bickslow caught Evergreen before she could fall, and Laxus spared them half a glance, just enough to ensure that they were otherwise unharmed before he whirled, seeking out the source of the noise, braced for an attack. What he wasn't prepared for was the enormous, mushroom-shaped cloud of smoke rising above Magnolia's skyline, or for the terrible, sinking knowing in his chest.

The Guild.

Freed was surrounded and yet he had never felt as alone as he did at that moment because it was as if he wasn't even there, or if he was, then he was no more consequence than a broken doll. No, less than that, because he had seen how gentle Bickslow could be with his dolls when they were damaged or outright broken in battle, and his friend showed more care to those ruined forms that the people…no Demons around him was showing him.

Oh, they were looking at him, one of them, who appeared to be a leader of sorts prowling around him and studying him with a look that was part curiosity, and then equal measures of doubt and approval, the latter make his stomach churn. He didn't want her to look at him like that, as though he belonged here, as though he was one of them. I am not like you, he thought, in the same way, that he had always tried to remind himself that he was human, but the thought trembled and wavered, fragile enough that it felt as though it could slip away from him at any moment. Laughter, greeted his thoughts, and at first, he thought it was that same voice that had whispered 'Here' not long before – the voice that was the Demon, but more, amplified by something that he had missed, or couldn't understand, a mocking sound meant just for his ears. Then he realised that his lips were pulled wide in mirth that wasn't his, that the laughter wasn't just in his head, although he could barely recognise his own voice in that sound, or in the words that followed.

"Your assistant…" The Demon said with his mouth, drawling that last word with a sharp edge of mocking, and Freed had a fleeting memory of liquid threatening to drown him or had that been the darkness… and rabbit ears, and a menacing grin that had promised and threatened far too much. What did they do to me? He demanded, but there was no answer, as though he was as insignificant as a leaf adrift in a gale, the Demon continuing as though he hadn't spoken. "Was most helpful, just as you promised…" Freed catches a glimpse of himself then, or at least his arms, and he's almost glad that he's not in control of his own body at that moment because he wants to be sick as he stares at the dark scales that cover at least his lower arms and hands, ending in sharpened claws at his fingertips. Worse is the writing. Not runes, a script he doesn't recognise in that instance and in is no state to try and decipher, that flow across the scales. There's a hint of the purplish gleam of his magic in them, although he can feel no spark of it, but they're darker, almost melting into the black of the scales, and he has an impression of chains wrapping around his body.

No, not his body. Around him, his soul…his humanity…his memories.

Around everything that makes him Freed and not the Demon.

Sealing him in. A prisoner locked away without a key.

Forever, the Demon had told him, he remembers now, and trembles beneath the weight and meaning of that word, despair stronger than any he had ever felt before settling over him, as the woman smiles. It isn't a friendly smile, and yet there's a kinship there, one that stirs a memory, but before he can attempt to try and untangle the puzzle pieces she closes the gap between them and reaches out. He braces himself for pain because he's not one of them, he's not…and then he feels clawed hands, so similar and yet so different from what his have become settle on his cheeks, and she's looking into his eyes, and Freed has a feeling that this time it's him that she's looking at and he quails under the force of her gaze. There's something equally dangerous and dismissive in his eyes that sets an itch beneath his skin, but he can't look away, can't hide away, because the Demon is there in his mind with him now, not holding him in place. It doesn't need to, but it lingers, savouring his terror, his helplessness, almost giving the sense that it's displaying him or offering him up on a flatter, and Freed doesn't want to think what that might mean for him.

"Impressive." The word is accompanied by pain, claws breaking the skin. It's a test he realises, but not for him, but the Demon. Almost hopes that it – he – will fail and be struck down, death better than he senses lies ahead, and there's more pain now, the Demon lashing out at him as though it knows exactly what he was thinking even though he had tried to bury it deep. Crying out at the twin assault, although no sound makes it out into the world as the Demon presses their lips shut, he almost misses the movement as the Demon falls to one knee, pulling free of the woman's grip. But it's not a surrender he realises dazedly, not precisely, because the Demon's head is held high, forcing Freed to meet the woman's gaze as a smirk crept across her face. "Very Impressive," she pauses, looking at the others around them/

Freed knows that he should pay attention, that he needs to know what he's against if he's to stand a chance of fighting, let alone escaping. But the despair is still draped over him, weighing him down, draining his resolve, his hope, his certainty that the others would come for him, and he can't look away, can't breathe as a silent conversation seems to happen. Or maybe it's the roaring sound of terror in his ears that stops him from hearing what is being said. The judgement that is being given, and he trembled when there is a shift in the air, and her attention turns back to him.

"It is agreed, Hell will open its arms once more…for the Tenth Demon Gate."