"On the ground I lay, motionless in pain, I can see my life flashing before my eyes, Did I fall asleep? Is this all a dream? Wake me up; I'm living a nightmare," Three Days Grace, Time of Dying

Just because Dan could no longer tell day from night did not mean that he appreciated being woken up-especially when the dream he had been having was the only good one he had had in a week.

Of course, in the past two weeks, he hadn't exactly had the best luck.

A warm, smooth hand was what jerked him from such pleasantries, startled him into a half-awareness that he was all too familiar with. His eyes shot open in fear and terror, terror that was familiar and awful, pulsed through his abdomen. A dry, raspy gasp was wrenched from his lips and instinctively, without understanding any of his surroundings, he jerked in struggle.

Pain, such violent, excruciating, pain shot through his body. Agony fired through his arm, bruises and slices in the skin lining the backside of his ribs seared, and the infected cuts on his wrists pulsed a deep, sharp sting. An unpleasant sound was drawn forth from his mouth, and then the hand was covering it.

Dan took deep, panicked breaths through his nose, as his eyes flicked through the dim light of his room to the face of his assailant. Spiky hair-pale gray, he could see, from the way the light of the open door fell on it-pale, human, skin, but a mostly shadowed face. He could just make out the intruder's mouth, set in a firm line, and a hand that was positioned in front of it. A finger was straight there.

He was telling him to be quiet.

"I won't hurt you."

The voice. It was familiar.

It was human.

Dan slowly relaxed, allowing his muscles to loosen and fall limply on the blankets beneath him. The constant pain intensified for a moment from the contact, then ebbed back down to its less-than-tolerable normal level. The hand on his mouth remained there for a moment while the assailant deemed Dan not to be a threat, then it was pulled away, and Dan slowly propped himself up.

"Can you stand?"

Again, Dan was stuck by the familiarity of the voice, but try as he might, he could not place it. His mind was still too fuzzy, stuck half on the fading dream of a girl with striking green eyes and half on the situation at hand. Numbly, he nodded, and with a grimace slid his legs off the side of the bed.

He rolled his lips over his teeth as he pushed himself upright, and discovered, much to his embarrassment, that he could not stand on his own. A leather-clad arm quickly snaked itself around his torso, supporting his weight as his legs threatened to give out beneath him. Briefly, Dan wondered where his previous strength had gone. Why could he no longer stand up on his own when, less than two weeks before, he had been able to run almost five miles with no problem?

The person paused while supporting Dan for a moment, his hand snaking into a pocket. Dan allowed himself to lean against this character, realizing that his whole body was wrapped in leather. Before he had a chance to ponder this new development, something was being pressed against his lips. A warm, spherical something.

Dan locked his lips together, let out a small grunt of resistance. He arched his back despite the pain, struggling feebly. His aggressor hissed.

"It's not gonna hurt you, for goodness sakes." The teen was irritated. "Stop struggling!" he commanded. Dan slowed, shooting a glare at him. Golden eyes rolled. "It's to keep up your strength," he hissed in a gentler voice. It wasn't kind, but it wasn't as rough at it had been.

Dan stopped moving, cautious eyes locked on annoyed ones. It was a battle of wills, the only type of battle Dan had a hope of winning in his current state. After a moment, however, Dan opened his mouth, and gloved fingers pushed the tablet gently past his lips.

"Don't chew it."

Dan did as he was told and swallowed the thing whole, wincing at the bitter taste, then was handed a glass of water. Where this stranger had gotten that was a mystery Dan didn't bother to ponder. He accepted it, swallowing mouthful after greedy mouthful of thirst-quenching sustenance.

When he was finished the glass was taken from him, and, miraculously, he could feel himself growing stronger. The teen supporting his weight noticed his ability to stand and stepped away, allowing Dan to straighten. A ghost of a smile graced the boy's features, and then he realized his companion was making his way to the door.

"Come with me. Hurry."

"Who are you?" The figure paused in the threshold, allowing Dan to see that, indeed, the figure was human. His hair was light gray, almost white, standing straight up in a multitude of gravity-defying spikes. His coat was black leather and several belts criss-crossed around his chest and around other parts of his body. The fabric over his shoulders was rounded and his coat reached his knees, plus his eyes were golden.

They were spheres, but they were golden.

"My name is of no consequence. Are you coming or not?"

"Depends on where we're going."

"The more questions you ask, the more likely we are to get caught, you know."

The look the teen was giving him, one crossed with annoyance and a slight nervousness, was what in the end persuaded him to move. Dan gave him a serious look, one that morphed into one of hope.

Was this escape?

He took a step forward, toward his helper, and expected himself to stumble. When he realized his footing was sure and strong, he took another step, and another, until he, too, was standing in the doorway. A quick fear of punishment for this action, for stepping outside his prison cell without a guard, crossed his mind and chilled his core, but the urgent gesture from his guide prompted him to force it from his mind.

Where had he gotten the strength to do that? Why was there no shadow at the edge of his mind, pulling the fear back, wrestling it back so that it was pinned to his being? Why was it not pinned to his chest where it would suffocate him, force all air from his lungs in the desperate, panicked act that was hyperventilation-

His breath caught in his throat and he leaned forward, his hands flying to his throat to massage away what invisible and intangible obstruction there was to free the airway. Regaining his breath was simple after that.

The guide either had no sympathy or no knowledge of Dan's struggles. He moved with startling swiftness, beckoning Dan to follow. It was an action he was forced into, but he had not the time to consider it as such.

He was led through winding hallways, for the first time unbound. It was odd, moving quickly, freely through these oppressing hallways. He would soon feel fresh air. Fresh air, not the stale, filtered air that plagued his prison, that was pumped through who knew how many pipes and was devoid of all outside scents. The air outside-was it cool? Would it be warm? What did it smell like?

All thoughts were driven from his mind, however, when the hallways grew darker, gloomier, and he had to put conscious effort into keeping sight of his guide. The guide who was moving nearly silently, and whose only defining feature was his oddly spiky white-gray hair. The jacket, which one would expect to make a sort of flapping sound as it was pulled through the air, was quiet. His footsteps were carefully measured, unlike Dan's unmonitored barefoot slaps against the freezing metal floors.

When Dan realized this, he quickly adjusted his gait so that he walked more carefully, using all of his leg muscles. His heels touched down first, carefully, quietly, and he bent his knees as he did so, allowing the soles of his feet to gently, softly collide with the ground. His toes connected last, allowing him to push off the ground and start the process again so he could move more quietly.

A small part of his brain allowed himself a bit of satisfaction at remembering what Shun shared with him, a trick to moving quietly, but he knew he mustn't allow himself even those little morsels of pride. Pride was dangerous here. Deceptive. Lethal, for if he allowed it to grow in his mind, to fester and take over his rational judgement, he might just cost himself something he could neither retrieve nor replace.

Twists, turns, but no stairs. Dan sensed that they must be getting close to the exit. It had to be close; how large could this building be? Certainly it wasn't an endless string of hallways, jammed together to form one giant labyrinth.

The Greek legend of Daedalus and Icarus sprang to mind, threads of a forgotten education that had been crammed in between fighting wars. That was the story where Daedalus built a labyrinth to imprison the minotaur, who, as Dan gave it thought, would be him. Then the king's daughter, Ariadne, fell in love with the prince of-what was it, Athens?-named Theseus, but she told him that she would help him kill the minotaur if he would marry her, so that's what he did. He ventured into the labyrinth, but only after Ariadne gave him a magic ball of thread. As he ventured through the labyrinth, he unrolled it and would use it to find his way back to the exit. So he succeeded in killing the minotaur and left with the king's daughter by ship.

Angered by this, the King Minos imprisoned Daedalus and Icarus, Daedalus's son. In a desperate escape attempt, Daedalus created wings made of feathers of the birds that flew over their prison and candle wax. He warned his son not to fly to close to the sun, as the wings would melt and thus deposit him in the ocean, and they took to the skies. But because Icarus got lost in the moment and magic of flight, he soared up as high as he could, and the sun melted the wax. He fell from the sky, plunging into the watery depths of the ocean. Daedalus searched for him but could not find him, and was forced to abandon Icarus in order to make it to land himself.

Dan trailed his hand along the wall, his eyes fixed on the back of his guide's light head. If he was the minotaur...why was this person-who he now came to think of as Theseus-be helping him to escape? Shouldn't he still be confined to his room, waiting for someone to come and kill him in order to bring about a greater good? Shouldn't this darkness oppress him, strangle him, torment him, until all he knows is suffocating blackness that burns his chest and makes him breath in ragged gasps? Shouldn't the light-which was slowly growing in intensity-not fall on his face? Shouldn't it neglect to burn his eyes, to taunt him with freedom that he knew was undeserved, as his steely resolve to hold up to the pressure of holding the lives of thousands, millions, billions crumbled ever so slowly into a growing pile of broken glass shards?

Glass shards like the one that hid beneath his bandages, piercing, biting into his flesh as a bitter reminder to his pathetic, cowardly last resort?

The guide said nothing, but Dan soon discovered that he had stopped. Dan himself stopped his momentum just seconds before he collided with his back. If he noticed, the masculine figure before him gave no indication. Through the gloom, Dan watched apprehensively as gloved fingertips were illuminated by nine small squares as they were pressed, releasing the lock on the door.

To think that freedom was just outside the door, literally centimeters from his face...

He didn't realize he was shaking with the mere thought of freedom until his teeth began to chatter. Outside that door was fresh air, endless sky. Outside that door was a world he had seen only briefly, but was just as habitable as the worlds he had visited before. Outside that door was a chance to return to friends he hadn't seen in what felt like an eternity. Outside that door was happiness.

Dan's breathing hitched and he forced his eyes shut, hardly daring to believe this reality. Was it really true? Was there really a world beyond the door? Or was it just another one of his daydreams, one of the countless fantasies he conjured that were always less real than his nightmares?

The caress of cool air on his cheeks prompted him forward, but he dared not open his eyes. No light struck him; no redness as the sun shined through his eyelids. What if what laid before him was really nothing but another illusion? What if he unveiled his vision to find that after daring to hope, to dream, to wish and to imagine, all that was there were the dark, shadowed walls of his prison?

What if his shadow stared back at him again, smirking with all the cruel mirth the universe had to offer?

Dan kept his feet planted firmly on the ground beneath him, his bare toes scrunched on the freezing metal ground. He felt the metal sucking what little heat remained from his flesh. He gritted his teeth against the aching cold that blocked all other sensation in his toes. He willed himself to focus only on that pain, blocking out the agony that seared his flesh everywhere else. That was a cold, aching pain. It was a localized pain. It was something he had felt before, something that would one day pass. That was something that would improve. That would get better.

"You coming?"

The voice startled Dan, whose eyes shot open in response. Darkness greeted him, but it was a different darkness. This darkness was something that stretched forward, a darkness studded with stars and airbrushed colored swirls. This darkness had substance, had physical features that existed outside the darkness. This darkness was intangible, something that touched him but was impossible to feel. His lips parted in incredulity; his eyes widened in stupefaction.

The night was before him. Fresh air-that was what he was breathing. A whole world existed before him, a world that was free and real and physical and safe. Out here...out here was paradise, he knew that instantly.

A seemingly endless expanse of plains stretched out before him, fading into the starry-strewn dome of the sky in such a way that he found it hard to tell the difference between land and celestial firmament. No clouds obscured any portion of the dome above him. When he cast his gaze up into the swirling pattern of spray painted stars, he took in the single moon floating to his right. It's rings were glowing red, a sharp contrast to its blue, and briefly Dan wondered how that was possible, but the night-scents drew him away from that thought.

He could smell the dew, the grass that tickled the bottom of his feet as he stepped forward. There was a slight musty scent, as if the dirt here were often wet, but the moving air brought crispier scents. He couldn't identify them all-for a human's nose could never be that strong-but he thought he could detect a faint trace of mint. He opened his mouth to drink in the scents, mere wisps of tastes, and the chilly sensation of menthol was obvious.

Dan's eyes scanned the horizon, searching for nearby civilization, but in the dark he saw nothing. None of the city lights he knew on Earth illuminated an inverted cone of harsh blue rays into this sky, but the soft, dim tones of Nethia were absent as well. The closest world he believed this one came to was New Vestroia, as what few Vestal settlements existing upon it gave off little to no light after midnight.

A soothing crescendo of insect's buzzing, their chirps pulsing through the eve, made Dan's eardrums vibrate. After the only sounds he knew were those of faint white noise and silence, this was an almost deafening staccato of noise. It didn't hurt like the sounds of attacks from a Bakugan battle, rather it was a pleasant sensation in his ears. He closed his eyes, drawing it in and trying to absorb the sounds, the scents, the sensations of the wind on his skin and the grass beneath his feet. He sucked air in through his nose as deeply as he could, loving its cool caress upon his lungs.

His head was clearer than it had been since he arrived on this planet, and all of his fear melted away. The breeze had stripped his discomforts from him; the cool air soothed his burns and wounds. The grass beneath him prickled at his skin; pebbles and dirt beneath that jutted into his heels but weren't uncomfortable. A night bird called out, and Dan's eyes opened.

This was what he was protecting. This was why he was allowing himself to do what he was. This beauty, this life, the world around him and the worlds far from him. It was his duty to protect them all; he was a Battle Brawler. He had the power to protect it. He was damn well going to use it.

The figure beside him, whom Dan had almost forgotten was still there, shifted. Dan instantly knew what and who the teen was. How he didn't see it before confused him, but he no longer cared why he didn't see. What mattered was the knowledge and what he would do with the knowledge. After all, he stood between the figure and what he wanted.

The smile that had overtaken his face, stretching it in a way that was strange but pleasant after his constant frowning, morphed into a smirk. He closed his eyes, shutting out the beauty that he knew was his charge, and turned. He faced his guide and felt his suspicious gaze burn into his skin.

"Tell me," Dan asked, "why you brought me out here." The question seemed to startle the teen, Dan could tell from the slight sound his jacket made when he shifted, but Dan didn't open his eyes. "I know as well as you do that if I try to leave, you'll just pull me back."

"What are you going on about?" the figure scoffed. "I just brought you out here, didn't I?"

"You may have brought me outside, but I know you're hiding something. Not just your appearance; I've seen that trick many times before-" Dan's eyes opened to reveal a silent threat. "-Anubias."

There was no mistaking the surprise that momentarily disfigured Anubias' face, but then he smirked. "I suppose the game is up," he chuckled. A bright glow started up from his body. Dan faced it with a squint. When it died, there stood Anubias in all his leather-clad glory, his horns framing his face and head in a way that was clearly meant to be intimidating. Now that Dan saw it in a new light, he realized that his markings and facial features were different from the other Gundalians he had seen. Anubias' were much more ornamental, meant to show off, while the others had been only slightly showy. He coupled this development with Sellon's strange, dark fashion sense, of course strange for a light-loving Nethian, and came to a conclusion Shun would be proud of.

"You're not a real Gundalian."

"You never cease to amaze me, Kuso," Anubias said, crossing his arms and glaring down at Dan. Dan returned the favor, but Anubias' eyes weren't exactly full of malice. "The impression I got from your friends was that you don't think that much before doing something you might regret."

"I guess it is a bit more up Shun's alley," Dan conceded, keeping his emotions carefully guarded. "But I can say both Shun's and my attitudes are the same as our brawling styles."

"I can say that's true for Shun, but you're the one whose skills I have yet to test." That piqued Dan's interest and, being unexperienced as he was, he allowed his mask to fall for a brief moment. His surprise shone through, and he knew Anubias saw it instantly.

"What do you mean?" His question was delivered tensely, tactlessly. He knew it as soon as his voice floated past his lips. Anubias was trying to hold back a smirk; Dan could see it.

"What do you think it means?"

"What I think doesn't matter as much as what it really means."

"Well let's see if you can figure it out for yourself." A small, red ball flew toward Dan. Instinctively, his hand darted up to snatch it out of the air, his fingers melting fluidly into the grip he maintained on his Bakugan partner. He opened his hand in surprise, examining the Bakugan with a critical gaze. His eyes widened.

"Drago?" he cried. "Drago, what-how-"

"It's not really Drago," came Anubias' voice, and Dan's gaze immediately flicked to him.

"How-"

The look Anubias gave cut him off. Dan fell silent, staring at the Gundalian with narrowed eyes but allowing Aubias to explain. "What you hold in your hand is a copy, an imperfect version of the Pyrus Dragonoid based on data I collected a few nights ago."

"A few nights ago? What did you do?" His tone was accusing, angry even. He expressed offensive emotions to disguise the fear that gripped his heart with cold claws. Dan knew Anubias realized this, but the Gundalian gave nothing to suggest it.

"Relax," he said slyly. "I didn't hurt him. I just collected a bit of data and gave that back to Kazarina." Dan growled, his eyes flashing. "Your precious Drago is perfectly fine."

"He'd better be," he hissed. "Or you're going to wish you never put this Bakugan in my hand."

"Aren't you wondering why I gave you that Bakugan in the first place?" Dan glanced at his fisted hand, then back at Anubias. He was staring at him seriously, but then he flashed him a smirk. "Don't tell me that you've lost your appetite for a battle to that dark room."

"Tch...yeah right," Dan glared back. "But if you want me to put up a decent fight I need some cards." Anubias tossed him a BakuMeter.

"The cards are in there," Anubias said shortly. Dan frowned, but strapped it to his wrist, grimacing as it rubbed against his healing wound. A screen appeared, floating above the wristband portion of the device. Dan raised his eyebrows.

"Greetings, Dan." He glanced at Anubias.

"Marucho's latest creation?"

"You know your friends well."

"Damn right I do. And I know they'll find me," Dan stated obstinately, his determined gaze boring into Anubias' disinterested one. He smirked. "Just like I know I'll beat you."

"You're welcome to try. Just don't come crying to me when you lose, Kuso." A wild glint had appeared in his slitted irises. "I've heard a lot about you. Let's see if your brawling matches your reputation."

"Man, if I had a nickel for every time I heard that," Dan chuckled. The teens turned at the same moment and put almost a football field's amount of distance between them. The breeze ruffled Dan's flimsy red nightshirt, stained in sweat and dried blood, and his white pants whipped at his bruised shins. He could barely make out Anubias standing on his own however many meters away, but he knew he was there.

Dan glanced down at the Bakugan in his hand, allowing his troubled mindset to seep through to his face. It looked exactly like Drago, but the feeling of warmth he felt when he held Drago was absent as he cradled this game piece. He wasn't even sure if this Bakugan, whom Anubias had stated was "an imperfect copy", was sentient. One thing was for certain, though. This Drago didn't posses the power of The Perfect Core, nor did it hold all six Attribute Energies within it. It did not harbor Neo's powers, given up by Neo's heart wrenching self-sacrifice. Code Eve had not granted this Drago her abilities.

But this Drago could fly. If Dan wanted, he could hop on this Bakugan and fly away, leaving his captors and his suffering. He could find a way off this planet and get back to his friends, where he would be safe. But leaving here would mean leaving the Vexos, and without him around, who knew what Barodius and the others would do. Leaving the Vexos also meant leaving whatever Barodius had stolen from him, meaning Joe would certainly be killed.

What if Runo were the other thing they'd stolen?

Dan's fist tightened around the Bakugan. No, he couldn't give in to his fear. He couldn't leave his friends, his allies. He couldn't leave them to suffer for his cowardice. He would regret it for the rest of his life if he did, and surely such a decision would damn him to Hell.

He clenched his teeth, then called out into the darkness.

"You ready?"

The reply came a moment later.

"I was about to ask you the same thing."

"Let's do this then." Dan allowed himself to think of a card, and it appeared just as Anubias said, floating above the Baku-Meter. Dan snatched it out of the air, spun, and sent it flying.

"Gate card, set!"

Eheh... I will get the next chapter out soon. I'm not leaving you on a cliffie x_x That would just be torture...

Sorry about the wait! THANK YOU EMPRESSPYRUS!

...As I was typing this I realized I didn't have wi-fi. Damn it. Well, at least this gives me time to start on the next chapter! :P

Review!