I revised this a bit, since the part about Shun may seem kinda random to anyone but me.

"How can you see into my eyes like open doors? Leading you down into my core, where I've become so numb..." - Evanescence, Bring Me to Life

Dan shot up in his bed, not for the first time, doused in a cold sweat. His breath came in panicked, desperate gasps, his lungs drawing air like he had been stabbed. Plastered to his forehead was his hair, and with the sudden movement of sitting up, the burning on his back started again. He grimaced and let out a carefully controlled grunt of pain, throwing his head back involuntarily. Pain exploded behind his eyes and just as mechanically, he jerked his body forward and dug his knuckles into his eye sockets.

It took every effort just to keep himself from screaming out. Tiny microbursts of torture beneath his temple sent chills down his spine and through his arms, just as an intense burning was kindled along his back. A slight contrast to the blazing heat was the tiny, irritating tickling sensation that worked its way down the skin of his back, mixing with sweat and inflicting a scorching sting upon each and every open wound. Blood was dripping down his back, he realized, but the thought didn't actually strike him. Instead, its mildness gave it the eerie resemblance to the sting of a wasp. He shivered, trying to dislodge the imaginary creature, but only succeeded in driving the sensation further down his body.

As per usual, the image of a large, yellow masked creature had stolen his attention. It's appearance had eclipsed even the pain, suddenly emphasizing it's importance. Dan had no idea why it was important. The only thing he was sure of with these visions was the paralyzing sense of fear that came with them. Six glowing, insect-like eyes gleamed in the center of the creatures "face", completely masking whatever laid beneath it-if anything did at all. Shadowed, spiderweb-like chains had worked their way around its arms and legs, attached themselves to its chest and "face", and even pinned it to its chair.

Dan stood before the creature with his eyes open as far as they could go. His stomach clenched as his abdomen filled with a horrible sense of rising terror, which began to infect his chest. His chest heaved, and while the sense of sweaty stickiness had faded, the pain in his head intensified, as did every discomforting sensation along his body. His throat was raw, his arms on fire. Every bruise felt like it had been slammed with five new punches. The brands on his arms and the split whip lashes on his back, legs, and shoulders inflicted the worst pain, as though salt had been thrown on both each open and healing wound. The agony of the healing lacerations only intensified as he spent time here, staring up at the masked creature. Presently, knives were being driven into the sensitive flesh, ripping through the scabs, muscles and sinew. But the new burn along his jawline was painless.

But despite these afflictions, the overwhelming desire to run overpowered everything. So that's what Dan did.

He whirled around, his eyes wide with terror, and stumbled as fire overcame him. A scream rose to his lips, but he kept running. It was as if the vocalization of his pain would ease it in some way. It was a foolish action.

"Cease your pathetic struggles, boy," a growl came from behind him. Dan glanced back, as he always must do. This vision had been experienced before, and now, he knew, would come the purple tendrils, snaking toward him like sea serpents. He still gasped at the sight of them speeding in his direction, and responded by forcing his legs to move faster, to propel him farther. But the scenery around him wasn't changing. The inky combination of red and black, occasionally broken by the arm thick strands of webbing, was constant, never ending, and frozen. He was frozen.

He was trying wretchedly to delay the inevitable, to prevent his demise at the hands of this faceless enemy. In his heart, he knew it was impossible. This creature would twist him limb from limb after playing with him a little, he could tell that from the way the tendrils stroked his arms. They wrapped around his healing wrists like whips, snapping there. They were much thicker than Sellon's, or even Mylene's whips and had the texture of sand paper. They tightened there, and around his arms where his biceps met his elbows. One snaked underneath his right armpit and over his left shoulder, suddenly constricted around his chest. He was shirtless, and the sheer harshness of the purple tentacle as it rubbed quickly along his skin was enough to split it. A yell escaped him as a wide but shallow wound was carved into him, and blood blossomed to trickle down his stomach.

Another tendril came and wrapped around his stomach, again slicing him. He screamed, the ropes twisting around his wrists and sheering off the scabs. One of them fitted itself around his palm like a glove and wrenched it to the side, causing an audible crack to split the air. Again, he screamed, wetness growing in his eyes. The tentacles spiraled around his legs, seizing his thighs and binding them. He was clad only in his underwear, which offered no protection against any of the bodily assaults.

"Give me what is mine!" the masked figure was growling, but Dan's mind was drunk on pain and adrenaline. What may have seemed like clear, coherent thoughts given shape now sounded watery and indistinct, but the meaning flashed like a flashlight in the dark night.

"N-no!" Dan screamed, horribly breaching the otherworldly silence. The only sounds were the slithering of the tentacles along his skin, shaving away layers of flesh to reveal red, bloody muscle. The bones of his torso suddenly appeared, glowing with some phosphorescence that was horrifying and distinct. The tendrils pried apart the skin and sinew around his ankles, dislocating them and bending them in ways that were never intended. His screams reached further than he could have ever imagined as a new pain, worse than anything he had or could ever hope to dream, exploded. His chest was being ripped apart, not just from the outside, but from the inside out. His organs were exploding in a violent, bloody apocalypse. Blood poured from his stomach and mouth, spilling out to vanish into the oblivion below.

And through it all, the pain only increased. His temple felt like it was on the verge of combusting. The pain in between his ears radiated outward to extend down his throat. Hot irons were being forced into his armpits and inside his flesh, burning away the nerves yet leaving a trail of molten flesh behind. Blood, skin, and muscle all disappeared into the smoke, the horrible smoke that stank of burning flesh and rotting corpses.

Dan's screams were only a mere fraction of the pain he tried to convey. Above them all rose a single voice, one that even he could hear because it filtered directly into his brain.

"The Gate and Key..."

And just like that, it was gone.

He was blissfully, blissfully senseless. He was numb, deaf, and unable to smell even the sweat that glistened upon his skin like tiny dewdrops. His eyes were open wide, and even though he saw the bluish, silvery room before him, he at the same time did not see it. His hands were disfigured upon the sheets before him from how hard he had been clutching them, and dark stains were evident to even his bleary eyes.

But then a form started to materialize before him.

Dan stared through the dark at the pale skinned figure in front of him, as though his existence were actually plausible. The greasy, brown hair fell unevenly in front of the figure's eyes, his reddish eyes. The burn along his right jawline matched Dan's perfectly, traveling from his ear to the center of his chin, with a small extension in the center. It branched up his cheek by about half an inch, an angry red against the clammy paleness of his skin.

Dan watched his doppelganger with disinterest, which was the complete opposite of the look he gave him. The likeness's eyes bore into his own with an intense, fiery edge, searing a path to the inner reaches of his mind. The reaches he had sealed off, except for when he was in the dark. The intrusion was unprepared for, and Dan had not the sufficient time to mask himself.

"Why haven't you done it yet?"

The voice was obviously, identifiably his own, right down to the raw, raspy quality that came from screeching the way he had. Dan averted his gaze. He knew exactly what the doppelganger meant, even though to any listener the meaning would have been too inconspicuous. Still, Dan pretended not to see the figure. He knew in his heart it was impossible for it to exist.

"Look at me." Dan, against his better judgement, found his gaze returning to his own face. The doppelganger held up a hand, the hand Dan knew so well as his own. Wounds on its wrist glistened in the slight light that was filtering in from the skylight in the bathroom, reflecting the bloody marks upon Dan's own wrists. Ruby half moons with still shiny gemstones upon them caught his eye, causing the identical jewels in his own fist to burn.

The intense look his doppelganger had given him melted into a wry grin as Dan unwillingly lifted his own hand, the one that molded perfectly with the one his doppelganger displayed. The bloody dewdrops mixed and smeared upon the skin, bringing with it an unpleasant stinging sensation. The doppelganger smirked, an expression that looked oddly out of place upon Dan's face.

"You know you could end it, your pain." Dan looked it in the eye this time. He lowered his hand.

"I know." His voice was a mere whisper, a fraction of the strength it should have possessed. But it still held a weight none of his other words had ever known.

"Why haven't you?" The tone was inquisitive yet repulsed, but at the same time desperate and feral.

"Drago. And Runo." Dan's fingers lightly ran over the fabric they pressed close, staining them with a red impossible to revoke.

"Oh come on!" His voice dripped with the emphasis on how ridiculous Dan was being. "You'd be doing them a favor! Then the Gundalians wouldn't have any to hold hostage..." His doppelganger's eyes had taken on a demonic glint. Dan ignored it.

"They still have Joe. And I'm pretty sure Drago would try to save Mylene and the others, too."

"Don't be stupid. If you're gone, then the Gundalians won't try to bargain with Drago. They know that angering him after that would be certain death."

"Yeah, but haven't you realized by now the reason why Mylene and the others are even here?" Dan asked, turning his despairing yet still angry gaze upon his shadow. The shadow fell silent. "It's to keep me in line. They haven't harmed them so far, haven't you noticed? You're me. You should be able to recognize this after all these years. Mylene and the others? Joe? They're all here so that I don't act out, and they're all expendable. As far as they're concerned, they just exist. And I'm probably going to be cut off from them soon."

"Why is that?" the shadow questioned. Dan's raw, pained eyes found those of the phantom before him.

"Because as far as they can tell, I'm smiling too much! Can't you see it? Somehow, I've fooled them. Somehow, I managed to hide everything! Even..." His fist tightened and his voice dropped in volume. "Even..."

"But you don't have to do it anymore..." The shadow coaxed him gently, suddenly appearing behind Dan. His bloody handprint smeared on his shoulder. Dan didn't move, only fixed his sightless gaze on his sheet. "Come now..." His own breath tickled the sensitive skin of his ear. "You know you can't hold up..."

"I know."

"So why do you keep resisting? You're tempted, admit it..."

"Of course I'm tempted. I have the means of doing it right here. In this very room," he recited listlessly. The shadow smirked, his tongue darting out with the swiftness of an amphibian to moisten the cracked and bleeding lips he shared with his target.

"Yes..." he hissed enticingly. "You do..."

Dan suddenly fell limp to the left, rolling onto the floor with a small grunt of surprise. He didn't even realize he had moved until he coughed, pushing his face up off the floor. A horrible, acrid scent reached his nose, just as an equal if not more unpleasant taste registered. He coughed again before opening his eyes and stupidly staring at the pile of sick before him.

"You can end it all..." The voice echoed around him, penetrating his horribly skewed perception with astonishing clarity.

"I can..." Dan pushed himself up on unsteady feet. His head swam, his arms flailed, and for a moment it seemed as though he would collapse. But then, he found that balance that had fled him, and he managed a few unsteady steps forward. He worked his way away from the vomit on the ground before losing his balance again, and before he knew it, his shoulder had connected with the ground.

A groan released itself into the air, but Dan was too far gone to even realize it had come from him. His shoulder ached, screaming in protest as he forced himself up. His clouded gaze saw nothing but the blurred glow from the bathroom, where his cure lay.

"That's it..."

Dan recognized the voice as his own yet foreign, but only drew from it the encouragement. His fingers clawed at the wall, desperate to lift himself. So close. He was so close to relief, to mercy, to silence and finally, senselessness.

His bare skin shone in the moonlight as he stumbled blearily into the bathroom in his practically drunken stupor. Unsteadily, he swayed before grabbing onto the wall again, using it as an unwilling support for his weight. He raised his gaze from the spotless floor to the skylight, where harmless silver moonlight would bathe him in its healing light.

"Come on, almost there..." He couldn't tell if he was speaking or if his companion was anymore. Regardless, he absorbed the praise and hobbled drunkenly across the floor until he stood in front of the sink, a mere basin. The faucet was simple enough; it would serve its purpose fitfully. So would the handles. And the mirror too. It was the brush, the single appliance that had been placed there for his benefit, that was his focus.

His bloody fingers closed around the handle so hard the blood from his crescent moons seeped out, staining the white wrapping around it red. He was numb to the pain that should have accompanied it, though.

"Now, you know what to do." Dan glanced up from the basin, where a dark, royal crimson had splashed into a unique blossom, and his listless eyes found himself behind himself. The shadow's eyes were wide with insanity, but his pupils tiny pinpricks among the dark red of his irises. His chest heaved with anticipation, his mouth cracked upward in some deranged amusement. His teeth glinted with each breath, just as the edges of the bloody whiplashes shone just barely over his shoulders. The blood shined as only blood could, beautiful yet appalling at the same time.

"Do it!" he hissed when Dan didn't move. But that was the only further encouragement he needed.

In a single movement, the brush had been sent flying. It arced across the room with an unmatchable force, the only likeness in existence the throw of a Bakugan. But it served it purpose.

Dan stood expressionless and ignorant of the danger as shards of glass exploded outward, arcing upward, downward, and outward as if part of some graceful artwork. Each facet caught the light of the moon, sending tiny beams of light everywhere in the room. A million tiny white lights reflected in Dan's eyes. What had been a blood red iris was now a white, glowing circle in the center of a reddened eyeball.

The shadow smirked in satisfaction. Dan didn't see, couldn't see anything beyond the weapons that all clattered soundlessly and timelessly to the floor in front of him. Here laid the answer. The only answer; it was spread out before him. Countless tiny parts of what had once been a single sheet of glass could now be used to end a life, and also save as many others as the infinite shards there.

The shadowed silence was the only thing keeping Shun sane.

Moonlight radiated down above him, bathing the entire area in a gilded silver. The smooth, tiled plates that made up the roof of his large, deceptive home gleamed with a silver sheen, only discolored by his own humanoid shadow. The grass below seemed to be encased in frost, and if not for the warm weather and bubbling of the pond nearby, Shun might have thought that were the case.

A sharp yet bearable sound cut through the evening air, altering in pitch every few seconds. It was a noise akin to fingernails screeching along a chalkboard, but there was no one nearby to protest against its harshness. The tiny, green orbs that rested in the grooves between the tiles said nothing, only watched their comrade grieve soundlessly in the hushed darkness.

It was not to say that they could do anything to soothe the latent sadness that the expressionless ninja concealed, though. Both allies had long since realized that Shun was better off handling his emotions his way, by retreating into his familiar state of seclusion. His dojo, since his grandfather's admittance to a senior home, had become his only refuge. How he had longed to escape to it upon their return from Gundalia, to its private peace. He could return to a time when he was happy, when his mother was alive. When Skyress still remained.

Shun's fingers pressed harder against the leaf, accidentally causing the slight split in the middle to crack even further. Maintaining the silence, he removed it, tossing it down next to him. He made sure to keep it on the opposite side of his body, away from the picture he now moved his fingers to.

His dry eyes flicked to the woman in the photograph, with long, blueish black hair. A lavender, timeless wrap adorned her shoulders and trailed down out of the frame. Whatever clothes she had been wearing under the wrap didn't matter. They couldn't be seen, save for the small bit of white that poked up against her neck. Shun had spent hours over the years trying to remember what exactly she had worn that day, but it was as if his mind had locked it away and tossed the key into the blacksmith's fire. It had melted and become part of an eternal sword that returned each and every year to stab him in the chest. It returned to stain his clothes a bright, deadly crimson, pinning the reason for his mother's death against his exposed and defenseless heart.

"You weren't there to spend as much time as you could with her before she died!"

The truth had stung him from the instant she stopped breathing, the day his mother died, until now, and most assuredly would for years to come. He carried the burden of his mother's death, the death of the one he loved the most. He would carry it until the day he died.

He had spent weeks, months, ultimately years living with that truth. Even though Skyress had tried to talk him out of it, it was a fact he could not and never would be able to deny. His mind was the one that whispered the poison to him. His own mind was his torturous killer.

Shun drew in his anger at himself and used it to fuel his battles, eventually allowing him to let enough go to function efficiently around his friends. He never told anyone except Skyress and Ingram about his struggles, and now they had both moved on. Shun never would. They had abandoned him. He was alone.

He often wondered how different his life would be if his mother had lived. It was one of his favorite and yet, least favorite things to ponder in the dark when he gazed up at the millions of stars above him. One of the few things he had worked out was that he probably wouldn't be the same person he was at the moment. He'd probably be a lot more talkative, he often thought with a wry grin. He wouldn't run off to be alone in times of struggle. He might even lean on his friends for support every now and then.

But as he sat there, wondering if one of the numerous glowing orbs in the sky held Dan upon it, a new guilt was growing within him. Maybe it was the date that was causing him to relive all those feelings, which inadvertently gave birth to new ones. The fact that today was the day his mother had died, that day when he first lost a battle to Dan. There were invisible links tying him to both his mother and his best friend today. And for that, the regret that he had no idea of what was taking place on Displatis stung him like a knife to the chest. In a way, though, the not knowing could be described as blissful. Right now, he had no idea that Kazarina, one of people he hated most, was explaining with horrible glee how Runo was being exploited and why, as if just being a soldier unknowingly pitted against Dan's resolve wasn't enough. That his best friend since they were innocent children was currently yelling, struggling against the claws of those he had once though deceased. That his friend was screaming at his allies to get away, so they wouldn't be hurt even as they tried to help and he endured more suffering than he could ever deserve. That the former prince Hydron and his accomplice Lync were fighting their very hardest to get out of Gill and Airzel's grips and help the teen who had once been their enemy. He had no idea that Mylene was snapping at Shadow not to move because a sadistic, power crazed Nethian woman was preparing to hit him with an electricity infused weapon.

He had no inkling that his best friend had been abused, branded, and beaten like a disobedient slave. That his best friend had spent the past week with the very people who had tried to kill him, and that the next time he saw him, Dan would be nothing like the happy, somewhat oblivious friend he had once known. He also didn't know that these next few days would be the worst Dan would endure in his life.

And most importantly of all, he was completely ignorant of the shard of glass that laid concealed beneath bandages against Dan's branded, scarred, and mutilated forearm. That Dan, the one who had fought so hard for the things that others loved, would, if it came to it, give up everything to protect all that others had achieved.

This ignorance was probably for his benefit, he would one day regretfully and angrily discover.

The extent of Dan's resolve, will and sheer love for his friends would astound him and be carried alongside the memory of his mother for the rest of his life. But when he found it out was something yet to be decided by the Fates, who continued to weave Dan's story into their tapestries. Their fingers would spin the fibers of Dan's life, however long or short it was decided to be. And soon, Shun, as well as all of those who Dan had touched, would be enlightened as to how that story would play out.

He didn't know it yet.

But the ones that held his fate in their hands, they knew. They always knew.

Review! Please, some, any feedback. Constructive criticism, PLEASE.