I wasn't that surprised at the numerous demands of Ian, I know we all love him. I may have only received one vote for Blaze.

I've changed the summary, simply because the story is taking a different course.

New Summary:

The untouchable concept of love is the restraint, the chains that hold them back. When thrown into the darkest of nightmares, when will salvation pull through? But the question that burns within them is: where is love, in a world filled with chaos?

I've been focusing upon Wanda, Blaze, and Ian, for most of the story. Further into the story, other relationships will progress. Excuse the errors this chapter is not proof read, I wanted to get it out ASAP so you guys wouldn't be waiting for too long.

Last Chapter (Ch14)

Then in the middle of my rant, a single voice pierced through the room. Just one voice.

"Wanderer?"

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Kyle's POV (gasp!)

They say humanity is a beautiful thing.

They also say alienisms are the polar opposite. The wrong and the abnormal. My opinion upon this is this: people fear what they do not know – aliens falling into that category. How many, when reaching a dark blasphemy, dare to provoke it? Or simply reach out to it. When stumbling upon an extraterrestrial, a creature not known to man, how many will love it? But I think the degree where we lose ourselves is when the wronging is disguised in the love of an innocent.

So there it is again. That untouchable subject of love. The hosts are the real reason why we love, if people we to see the true forms, the actual aliens, the bond will not be as tight. But seeing how that is not our situation, we must fight against these restraints and bonds.

I glanced around me, under the blazing sun, was those who dared to venture with me. Sweat glistened upon each forehead; tears of determination ran down our cheeks as we trekked through the torturous climate.

We strived upon our determination. We live of it, breathe it, we use it to fill the spaces where our needs aren't met. Us, standing together, we are bonded. Connected through passion and will. We fight, we battle the deaths that pull at our wrists and bite at our feet. We will be victorious when we reach our end. The question we ask is: what do we fight for?

We battle for safety. For the beauty, and all the morals in our world that have been stripped so easily. We battle for those we cannot fight their own. Those who are handed over defenceless and weak into the hands of the enemy. We are losing the world to chaos, losing the judgement of what is right. I have been blinded by this, and I will not be again.

I have seen the wronging and the ferociousness of the enemy. I was taken in too easily before, but it won't ever happen again. I suppose what drew me in, was the innocence. The vulnerability I thought I saw, but really it was all an illusion. Because they are all the same. Cruel, heartless, and violent. It's all they are – after all it's of their nature.

Deception – in my opinion – is the deepest of all sins. Lies that are told straight to a face deserve a one way ticket to hell. Yet where my predicament comes in, is the concept of actions. When one has no intention, no purpose whatsoever, for any harm inflicted, are they just as guilty?

I know they never meant harm, but that doesn't make the sun blaze any less, or fill our canteens with water. They may not have lied to us verbally, but their nature says it all. The way their abnormality infested this planet, seeping like uncontrollable venom.

We, on the other hand, are here to civilize these savages. Tame the wind, and conquer the darkening seas. We must bring clarity, and show what is the correct. They think they're so superior, but reality-wise they are beyond all ignorance and stupidity. But then again, how does one tell if they incorrect, until proven otherwise? We are not trying to be selfish – though sometimes it seems so– but rather we do what we must in order to open eyes.

Sometimes though, I find myself weak, and allow my thoughts to drift. Unconsciously dragging me farther from reality and what is ethical. It's hard to maintain hope in a terrain like ours. Under the sun for numerous hours, striving off of what we managed to pack with us.

But what tears us apart the most, are the nightmares. The memories and flashbacks that persist to taunt us, pulling at our stomachs and nipping at our hearts.

We hear their screams sometimes, their cries for mercy and compassion. The way their eyes would grow wide and tears would cascade down their cheeks. They'd sob, they'd fight, they'd beg. But the worse of them all are the ones who did nothing.

The ones who simply stare at you, betrayal evidential in their eyes, and you find yourself looking down at your hands and wondering how you are able to be such a monster. The silent acceptance of their deaths, no words or cries to their lips. A simple death. But then again, how is death ever to be called simple?

I sometimes feel their arms around me still, grasping on to my arms tightly, trying to prevent me from the unpreventable. But most of all, I remember the blood.

The shower of crimson, a color so beautiful, morphing into the most sickening of all shades. A pool of lives reminding me of the sins these hands have committed. The things we do for justice, never come easy. One would argue against us asking how such violence can be called moral. I am still yet to reach an answer for such questions. But as I look at me nomads around me, the sweat on their faces, the gleam of willpower in their eyes, I know this is why we fight.

Some would say they only show the same courtesy towards another, based on what was shown to them. Eye for eye. You beat me, I'll beat you. But I don't live by that. Though I have the scars that remind every passing moment of the cruelty bestowed on me, I keep that part of me hidden. A secret source infuriating my strength.

Yet, I ask myself, if I have been through such hostility, why do I persist to bring back that unwanted violence towards others? Why do I give others the same fate I have been punished with? I do it not for revenge, nor for self-purity. But rather, I have witnessed my share of lies; I have witnessed my share of love, hope, deaths, and pain. I have nothing more to live for. I have done it all. Gone through every process there is, walked every path paved. What is left for me?

I suppose I am acting upon my independence, somewhat. I know it's not right, but in this world how many things are able to be called right? Right, sits upon the edge of the world. Ready to tip with the faintest of breaths. I only hope to balance out things, in hope not to anger the delicate balance to our world.

"Should we pack up for the evening?" My nomad asked me, his eyes holding weakness and lethargy.

I pitied my teammates, as they are all flesh and bones. "Yes," I answered simply, dropping my gear to the ground.

We set up camp fairly quickly, gathering around our fire. It's hasty to have a large fire blazing, for there is the fear of being spotted. But in the middle of nowhere, our safety is secured. I glanced around at the faces around me, blank and tired. I tried to remember the sacred time of the past. The time of simplicity, and tranquillity. The time where these faces were filled with happiness and everything was easy. A time where love ruled and conquered all.

Then reality came, and bit us in the butt.

Bringing us from our high clouds, tumbling with no safety net towards the unknown territories. Not all of us were lucky enough to land on soft ground.

Sometimes I pretend I hear the sacred sound. That forbidden sound, never to cross our lips again. Laughter. At least, true laughter. One with no restrictions, no regret that hangs drapes over our shoulders, making each word strained and stressed. I pretend to see my family complete. Whole. I pretend that we aren't fighting death each step of the way. I pretend we're safe, we're happy.

But mostly, I simply pretend.

Or at least, I try. But with every failed attempt, comes a reality check. Comes a time where I must once again put on the cold, hard, face I wear continuously. So frequently, that it soon becoming a normal façade. Because that's what we all are. Each child, born and unborn, we are all the same.

Killers. It's all we are. We kill, we slaughter. Anyone who tells you otherwise is still yet to be victimized. Simply because there is no honesty in our world – or very little. We do fight for it, but realistically, how far can we get, until we are all killed off?

I see her face.

Everyone gleam of the sun, reflection of the water, a mirage created by my imagination, I see her everywhere. With every darkened shadow, I see her curly black hair. Every flower blowing in the wind, I see her face. Wide black eyes stare at me while I sleep.

She haunts me, like she haunts her host. I feel her breath on my neck when I lay. I feel her finger tips on my arms when I close my eyes. Sometimes I hear her whispers when I'm alone.

I'm constantly feeling her presence.

But it's wrong. So wrong. Love is forbidden. How can I love someone who has committed the worse of sins? Why must everything be so complicated? How can a killer fall in love with his victim?

I find myself back in her arms, not Jodi, but Sunny. That body will never be Sunny's, yet the body will forever be Sunny in my mind. I can think of no other. It's the host that attracts me to her – I tell myself that constantly. Yet when I think about it, it is the integrity that I am in love with. Her humour and sarcasm has me hanging.

I am torn.

Ripped into pieces, I'm slowly losing insight. I am in the midst of confusion, the greatest of unknown.

Soon my travellers wandered off into their tents, but I remained sitting, staring off into the horizon. The wind blew gently, and I heard her words again.

"Kyle," her words blew around me and I shut my eyes.

Tears gathered in my eyes as I drifted in the sweetness of her voice.

"I miss you, Kyle." Her words were strained.

I opened my eyes, and imagined her next to me. Smiling brightly, her wide black eyes, rimmed with silver would stare at me. They'd reach down to the core, and sit there, becoming a part of who I am.

Another breeze danced in the sand, blowing plants.

"Return to me."

I swallowed the lump in my throat. I could never return to her again. If I did, I cannot trust my own action, or my family's. We have come to loath these creatures. She is the very reason we fight, why we suffer. The cuts of betrayal run deep, and it was feeds our anger.

I wish to protect her from my violence, yet I yearn for her presence. Two things that can never coexist peacefully.

But I am thankful for the year I've had with here. A year I am able to take with me, an invisible force that pushes me harder. But I would trade all the days on earth, for one more with her.

It's not right to want her like this. But it's inevitable. As if I cannot control it.

I wait for me to awaken. To wake up and realize I have been living in a nightmare the whole time. I'd wake up and find her back in my arms, and realize there is no need for harm. I'd wake up back in the time where I could pretend. Pretend everything was alright, everything was easy.

But as much as I can pinch myself, I will never awake. I am forever damned into this nightmare, where I must battle the greatest power. Love itself.

Never am I resting, because I'm fighting constantly. When I sleep, I battle my nightmares. When I close my eyes I battle within myself, fighting for domination. The wars are never to end; my battles are yet to be won.

I wait for her voice again, but like the wind, it has flown away. Flying off into another land, dancing along shores and ridges, forever lost to freedom. I remember not to lose myself to the beauty that surrounds me, and remember to keep my priorities straight. A sad life it is, but it's the life I must live with.

Sunny's POV

"Return to me," I cried softly, and sobbed into my hands.

I stared blurrily at the camp that sat behind me. I saw Melanie wandering around aimlessly, her silhouette one of an angel's. Wanda was still in the tents, refusing to leave her lover's side, and still to this point I wonder who she is referring to.

Yet the persisting emptiness claws inside of me, unleashing a fury of emotions. An emptiness that I have come to know. A constant pain that dwells within me.

The missing presence of someone is enough to kill you.

Wanda and I are both in waiting. Only her destiny is certain while my still remains anonymous. Her love is lying in that very tent, soon to awaken.

While mine on the other hand, could be anywhere. I stared at the setting sun, disappearing from the face of the earth, and felt contented knowing that he too, shared the same sun.

I refuse to believe that he's dead, because if he was, I would know. Because if he were dead, there would be no possibility of me remaining alive as well. How long could one go without a heart? It sounds horrible, ending your life because of another. But I don't think of it as the end, but rather a sacrifice you have given to the one who managed to take possession of your soul.

I pray that he has food, that he's safe. But mostly, that he is able to find even the smallest of happiness is this scary world. I also pray that he's not alone. I glanced back at camp, and felt an overwhelming gratitude towards the people who were there.

I have withdrawn within myself lately. Snapping at those who tried to reach out to me. I started pushing the ones I love away from me, out of fear. I blamed myself for all that was going wrong.

Just me, the world, and a broken dream.

I used to dream of Kyle and I. The forbidden lovers growing more in love. There is Wanda and Ian, the two misfits as well. But they are not as Kyle and I. Ian chose Wanderer, but no one chose me. I am more of an intruder than Wanda is. I was sent away, I was picked last – for a time being I was unwanted.

That time forever remains with me. Even through the times of love, of happiness, I find myself lost back into the swarm of loneliness. A time where I was banished.

It's the worse feeling of all, to be unwanted.

It's the type that eats you alive. Stripping you off all dignity and optimism, leaving you with nothing but false hopes. You believe things too easily, but you're just grateful and go along.

I love Kyle, with every fraction of my soul. But how can he love me, when he never wanted me in the first place? But I suppose, all this is irrelevant now. But that does not make me hope any less for his safety. It is those who hurt you, whom you have to pray for the most. Because it's those who need the most help.

You wonder, sometimes if you can ever truly run out of tears. But I am living proof that that is impossible. I have cried for days now, and I never seem to find an end. My temper has been hectic, my moods swinging.

I feel bad for the pain I am causing Melanie and Wanda, but they have their loves to comfort them. Melanie in spirit, and Wanda in Ian. Then there are the ones who remain asleep in the tents, sweat plastered on their foreheads, warming by the minute. Blaze is supposed to help, after all his host was a Healer.

So maybe there is a chance at redemption. But I'd rather not get caught up in my hopes, because I have learned that not all pulls through, and you find yourself with shattered shards in your hands. Pieces of the dreams you dared to dream of.

"Can I join you?" Melanie asked quietly, and I jumped at the sudden intrusion.

I nodded quickly, and she sat next to me on the sand.

Her dark hair blew in the wind, as she stared with me at the horizon.

"Can I talk to you?" She asked me, and she said it with such delicately, I felt uncomfortable.

"Yes," I murmured.

"Promise you won't think I'm crazy, okay?" She sighed and ran her hand through her hair.

"I'll try." I offered.

"You must." She said harshly.

"Okay," I said in a small voice.

She took a deep breath, and prepared herself. Her shoulders slightly slumped, and her eyes fill with an unknown emotion.

"I can hear him," she whispered, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes. "He talks to me."

I stared at her, wanting to call her crazy, but finding no words. I knew who she was talking about, we all know. The theory of someone communicating after death seems idiotic, but as I saw the determination and truth in her eyes, it's hard to deny.

"He says he's happy." Her bottom lip quivered. "And he misses me."

She looked away from me, not waiting for a response. "He says he guards over me every day. He promises he won't let anything happen to me." She sobbed quietly. "But he wants me to be happy."

I realized with remorse, that my friend, too, has a shattered dream. I reached out and touched her gently.

"I'm not crazy," she insisted. "Sometimes you just have to believe."

"I believe." I whispered to her, and her eyes met mine. "I believe you."

She smiled wistfully. "He says the world is far more beautiful than we see it. He says we're just blinded by our insecurity. I wish I were with him." Her tears fell faster, and her fact twisted. "When I told him that, he got angry at me, he told me never to want such a thing."

I stared at her, my throat constricted, and my eyes burning. The way she stared at me, with such innocents, with such passion, I realized that even through tears, Melanie remains beautiful. The type of beautiful that has no limits, and I only wished I possess such a natural ability. Her dark eyes stared at me, wide.

For the fifth time in this life, I found myself wishing I was human.

"At first I thought he didn't want me." She continued. "But he insisted that I remain in this world. Because my task is still incomplete. I asked him if his task was complete, and he answered yes. Do you know what his task was?"

Her eyes watered again and I shook my head slowly, gripping her hand.

"To take care of me." She spat out hysterically. "To make sure that I was loved."

She sobbed into my shoulder as I held her. I was small, but at the moment, it didn't seem to matter.

"I then asked him why he had left. And he said he never did." She stuttered into my neck. "He says he's beside me every day, holding my hand."

I was at loss of words, so I bit my lip, as tears silently streamed down my cheeks.

"Wanda wouldn't understand if I told her about this." She told me, wiping her tears with the back of her hand.

I knew what she meant instantly. Wanda hadn't lost something like we have. Melanie and I share the pain of loss, and not knowing. We are still yet to accept our ignorance to the situation.

In the moment, as we held each other, and she continued to tell me stories of her and Jared, I felt safe for the first time in a very long time.

Because, pathetically, it is the brokenness that has brought us comfort.

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Very late update.

Get use to it, please. I know, it's horrible, and I apologize. But what I do not appreciate is having people PM me, just so they complain about my lack of updates.

I have received a few nasty PMs saying how I am ruining the plot because I'm not updating fast enough – though I don't see the relation between the two. Firstly, I am completely aware that I'm slow, but I have constant commitments coming up, especially since the school year is ending soon. I also have four stories that also need updating.

I will update when I can, but I do not need people flaming me because of it. If you don't like it – hell, stop reading my story.

ANYWAYS! Can I be honest? I was going to kill Ian, I swear I was. But for your sakes I didn't. I'm a very sadistic person, this story is so eerie. ALERT: ATF will be under construction, because I'm going to go through all chapters and proof read. I'll be adding things, but not changing the plot whatsoever. I'm simply improving my grammar and punctuation.

My god, how long is this AN? Well, just a note, I've entered the Epic T Rated One Shot Contest, just for the fun of it. My one shot is a different style of writing than I'm used to, but I recommend it.

Keep the review clean,

EverlyYours