For the first time in a good while, Ogron couldn't attribute the sharp pain in his chest to Neruman's abuse. No, this was a delightful gift from Gregory, and his utter lack of control in what was supposed to be a tame sparring session.

'Ow! Bloody hell!'

Gregory paled, recoiling as Ogron dropped to his knees, his hair slightly singed from the brutal attack.

'Oh my god! Ogron, I'm sorry, I was trying…I tried to keep it tame, I did everything you told me…'

'It's fine, keep going.' Ogron brushed the dust off in a pointless gesture more designed to uphold some semblance of composure rather than to actually remove dirt. He'd been in fight after fight, frozen in Omega, lived in the sewers and been beaten countless times in these clothes; no force in this universe was removing so much as a modicum of dirt, not enough to make a dent in the crust of grime and blood on the leather. He regarded the sleeve with a hint of mourn, guilt pricking at him. Duman had made him this outfit, and given Ogron a terribly stern look, warning him not to ruin twelve hours of work. Well, now it was ruined…

Gregory stared at Ogron askance as he fell back into a fighting stance, the look flickering in his eyes that suggested he was wondering whether the redhead might in fact be a tad more insane that he appeared. And, when one already appeared fairly insane, that was cause for concern.

'…You're bleeding.' Gregory pointed to where a thin scarlet brook trickled through the red reeds of hair, dripping to the ground in ruby droplets, vanishing into the grime.

'I said it's fine. Again.'

Gregory bit his lip, stepping back. 'I don't know, Ogron…I can't keep these spells under control, and you've been taking a serious beating.' Ogron flinched violently at the choice of words, but Gregory thankfully didn't comment. 'Maybe we should just…just go back to the small spells. I know I said I hated them, and they were boring, and that maybe you were just teaching them to me because you were too washed-up to actually teach me anything cool, but…I don't like this. I can't control this, and I'm scared I'll hurt you.' Ogron shifted, and yet more blood trickled to the ground. '…More.'

The truth was, Ogron would adore nothing more than to go back. Go back to levitation, and basic glamours, the staples every magic student learned. Sure, Gregory had to cram his powers into them, rather than scrambling for a spark as most did, but they'd fallen into something of a decent rhythm, and Ogron had to confess he'd rather enjoyed it. No, truly enjoyed it. It had been like teaching his friends again, getting to feel that warm thrill as someone's eyes lit up as they finally understood. He could have made Gregory truly something, a wizard perhaps even able to reach their own former heights, but…that took time. And control. Two things that Neruman had expressed a true revulsion for. Ogron had his orders: force Gregory's powers into the strongest spells he could come up with, control be damned. Make him a weapon, a tool in Neruman's belt. And Neruman had no use for levitating a rock. It was the basics, but that was Ogron's problem, not his master's, and thus he was simply supposed to ignore it. Without foundations, he'd fall, but Ogron would likely take the fall for his unplanned pupil if he did, and the sting in his ribs would once again stem from his unwillingly self-inflicted torture. Thus, the sparring. Through bruised ribs and bleeding, he had no choice. Nor would Gregory, not once he was what Neruman desired. Ogron would almost feel guilty, if everything but the basic scraps of the will to survive hadn't been beaten out of him over a week ago.

'No, I'm fine,' he asserted yet again. 'Now, go again.'

Gregory looked like he was becoming more and more convinced his teacher was a lunatic, but he nodded nonetheless. 'Okaaaayy…any tips for how not to shatter your ribs this time?'

Ogron's expression soured. Looked like he'd failed to keep that new little ache and pain hidden. He was losing more and more of his mask, the scraps stuck together with whatever resolve he could drag from the deepest refuges of his mind. He'd need to scrape more together, and soon.

As much as he wanted to avoid any further pain, his role had been made clear to him. He was both trainer and training dummy, his own wellbeing secondary to the boons Gregory could bring Neruman. Control was to be sidelined, and Gregory's power be unleashed as viciously as possible. Also, the only tips Ogron had were to go back to the basics that had been stolen from them, so that would be pointless anyway.

'No, just keep going as you were.'

'You'll get hurt…'

'We're in a fight, that's the point,' Ogron huffed, quietly steeling himself to get beaten down yet again. He could win this, Gregory had so little control that he was as easily overwhelmed as Ogron's own psyche when faced with just about anything at this point, but that didn't mean the fight didn't come with a delightful new tapestry of bruises.

'Now attack!' Ogron snapped, and Gregory obeyed. The earth shook under them, and Ogron focused on every sparring match between him and Gantlos to stay focused and on his feet.

When Gregory charged, it was like a battering ram, breaking through Ogron's shields. Thankfully, with a small blast to the back as Ogron sidestepped the freight train, he also broke through a shipping container, stumbling out on the other side dazed and confused.

'Come on, head in the game!'

Ogron regretted the order, no matter how little he'd wanted to utter it in the first place, as a wild burst of magic vaporised metal, cleaved two new ravines, and, last but least only to Neruman, who'd find it mildly amusing, slammed into Ogron's stomach, knocking the wind out of him and almost forcing his meagre breakfast right after it.

Ogron hadn't survived as a fairy hunter for centuries by being weak, by falling to the first hit, but he faltered far worse than he ever would have before. He was exhausted. But Gregory's spell would look like a relaxing massage compared to what Neruman would do if he let up in training, so he countered as fast as he could. A year ago, he'd be on top. He'd struggle, as any would against what was effectively a living bomb, but his breathtaking roster of spellcraft would leave Gregory on his backside within a few minutes. However, most of the spells he had spent centuries fine-tuning, honing until he could summon nigh-on impossible magic with a mere thought, were now high out of his reach, leaving him a child jumping pointlessly, pleading for his salvation.

When Ogron was young, he had learned from his father: never push yourself beyond your limits when it comes to magic. He had very little left from his father, so it felt rather tragic to disregard this lesson, but he'd never train Gregory to Neruman's satisfaction within his claustrophobic limits.

'What the fu-?!' Gregory struggled madly against the magical bindings that whipped from Ogron's fingertips, lashing him back against a shipping container. It should have been victory assured as Ogron readied a finishing blow, but the metal fell away to dust as Gregory kicked out against it in a panic, destroying it and a good chunk of the ground.

'Seems a bit unfair!' Gregory called, stomping his foot as sending Ogron staggering back. 'You got all these crazy spells, and I got blind panic and whatever the hell this is!'

'Keep your focus!' Ogron didn't really mean to snap. He was supposed to respond calmly, explain, but he was just focused on keeping the fight going until one of them got knocked out. Dear god he hoped it was him…a good few hours laying unconscious would be so nice…he could handle the accompanying headache.

Unfortunately, Gregory was far too unskilled to allow him such a beautiful respite from his life, sloppily throwing whatever energy blasts he could summon. He had no spell knowledge, just raw energy. Was it really only two days ago when they'd all told him in convicted unison that spells were always better? Two days, about sixty bruises ago. Most from training.

The fight finally came to an end as Ogron gritted his teeth, managing to vanish in a haze of smoke and reappear behind Gregory, blasting the young wizard to the ground before he could comprehend what was happening.

'What the literal-?' Gregory rolled over, panting, his stance relaxed, the battle deemed lost. Ogron knew Neruman didn't want this battle over until both passed out from exhaustion. But he couldn't make Gregory get up and fight again. They'd been at this all morning.

'Dude!' Gregory's eyes shone with enthusiasm, despite lying in the dirt. 'That was sick!' Ogron disliked being referred to as dude, and, as far as he knew, 'sick' was the word used for illness, the liquid roiling in his stomach, readying itself to make an appearance, or what certain individuals had used to refer to Duman's powers. But the grin with which it was delivered made him think that perhaps the youth had recycled yet another poor, tired word, and he nodded, hopeful that conveyed the right sentiment.

'Can you teach me that?' Ogron felt jealousy lance through him as Gregory jumped to his feet, able to move so quickly even after the fight. 'Teach me to poof and re-poof?'

'It's teleportation…' Ogron muttered, trying not to sway on his feet after the spell, a horribly familiar, but unexpected nausea washing over him. 'And it's too complex…'

A frown creased Gregory's brow at Ogron's contradictions. '…But you said all this was too complex.'

'I know what I…said…'

'…You okay?' Gregory asked worriedly, taking in the greyish tinge to Ogron's skin. 'You need me to get Gantlos or Anagan?'

'Mm-mm.' Ogron shook his head, shooing Gregory away with a grunted 'Take five.' As soon as the teen was out of sight, Ogron rubbed his temples, wandered towards anywhere he could sit down…and promptly threw up.

'Anagan?'

Since Ogron had mostly insisted on handling Gregory's training himself so he could do it to Neruman's satisfaction, Anagan and Gantlos were pretty much kicking their heels. Well, no. Gantlos was sitting curled in on himself, evidently brooding and miserable, and Anagan was actually kicking his heels, but out of anxiety rather than boredom, trying to decide how to start a conversation with his friend, very aware that his emotional state was delicate, and needed to be handled with care. Gregory's call came just as he was opting to open with, 'Hey,' a universal favourite.

'Gregory?' Anagan put his unborn conversation aside, getting up with mild concern. 'What is it?'

'Ogron and I are taking a break, and I don't think he's feeling well.' Gregory shrugged. 'I dunno what's up. Like, maybe food poisoning?' Ogron did have a sensitive stomach, but Anagan highly doubted that was it. It was never that simple.

'What do you mean, not feeling well? What did he say?' As soon as the words left his mouth, he heard how stupid they sounded. Ogron would never share ill feelings with Gregory, unless those feelings were 'I have been stabbed and am now bleeding to death, can you please get Anagan?'

Gregory confirmed his thoughts, shrugging again. 'Didn't say anything, but he looked like death, looked and sounded like he might hurl. Thought you should know.'

'Yeah, thanks. I'll go check on him.' Anagan cast a quick glance to Gantlos. 'You good here?'

'Mhm…' Gantlos looked pretty concerned, but Anagan waved off his attempts to follow. Ogron didn't like to be crowded when he was sick.

It took him longer than he'd like to get around the warehouse; well over twenty seconds. He'd been working to build his speed back up, but he knew better than to break his limits. He was weak after Omega, not to mention that they weren't exactly eating like kings…

'Ogron?' No answer. 'Ogron?' This time, he got a response, in the form of quiet retching. 'Oh, dammit… Ogron?'

He found his leader and shattered friend sunk to his knees, skin a sickly grey colour, retching on the ground. Evidently, he'd been at it for a good few minutes.

'Hey…what's wrong?' It was pretty obvious, but the purpose of the words was really more to soothe, not to seek an answer.

'Ana-' Ogron convulsed with a fresh wave of nausea, and Anagan wondered if he actually did have food poisoning. Then he took him in. Skin a pale, corpse grey, sweat beading and shimmering with a very unnatural light, eyes practically glitching with sparks…yeah, this wasn't bad cheese.

He wanted to ask what Ogron had done, but now wasn't the time. Instead, he simply settled in behind him, gently pulling his hair back and keeping it out of the way, slowly rubbing Ogron's back as he choked and gagged.

'Hey…hey, it's okay…just breathe…in through your nose…out through your mouth…'

Ogron only responded with a weak whimper, shaking slightly under Anagan's touch, until, finally, he managed to draw a deep breath, sitting up straighter and turning to Anagan, his expression drenched in embarrassment.

'I'm sorry…'

'Shh, shh, it's okay, I just want to make sure you feel okay.' Anagan brushed hair back from Ogron's damp brow. 'Are you feeling okay?'

Ogron hesitated, before shaking his head, his face scrunching up with discomfort and humiliation.

'This shouldn't be happening to me…'

'Why?'

Ogron's voice was tinged with frustration when he spoke next, his chest heaving as he tried to keep back the nausea. 'I teleported…in sparring…'

It took Anagan a minute to understand what he was suggesting. When he did, his eyes widened before he could stop them, further cementing Ogron's hurt expression.

'It shouldn't happen to me…' Anagan remembered this. Teleporting was hard. You were moving every atom of your being across space, on a planet that was moving faster than Anagan could ever dream, focused on not ending up in the void of space, or the centre of the core, and when one reappeared for the first time, there was nary a witch or wizard that hadn't dropped to their knees and thrown up. It was an effect that tended to last for the first few months of the study. First few months.

'I'm not this weak…' Ogron whispered, though his voice lacked conviction. 'I'm not…I can't be…' Ogron hadn't teleported since getting them to Omega. His magic was barely a twentieth of its former power. He was weak, and exhausted, and toeing the line of starving with how beautifully easy it was to get food here, hiding out, as criminals. He didn't have the energy to spar in any capacity, but he most definitely lacked the power for teleportation. As his disorientation-induced nausea rather visually demonstrated.

'You're not weak…' Anagan reassured quietly, but he couldn't help but wonder if he might be lying. 'You're not weak…'

Ogron would normally argue back, but he just looked ill, gagging again and groaning.

'Come on, let's get you a little more comfortable…' Anagan helped him up, gripping his arm firmly as Ogron's legs shook. He moved him a little way away and carefully eased him back down, pressing a hand to his forehead, feeling a concerning heat. He needed to get some decent rest, but he knew Ogron would never concede to it. Not when he was afraid of Neruman. 'Look, just stay here for one minute, I'm going to get you some water, okay?'

Ogron shook his head, paling slightly again and covering his mouth at the prospect of drinking. 'No…'

'You need it. You threw up a lot, and you'll be dehydrated. I'll be back in just a minute.'

True to his word, he was. Fifty-four seconds, to be precise. Acceptable. His powers were a lot like him. They weren't that amazing, and frequently disappointing next to others, but they were efficient, and they helped his friends.

The Ogron of fifty-four seconds later didn't look any better than the Ogron he'd left, the only difference being that this Ogron now had his head leaning back against a crate, taking slow, shallow breaths as a hesitant breeze crept through the muggy afternoon. A tiny little spark of magic later, and the breeze overcame its inhibitions, skipping through the heat and managing to slightly ease Ogron's breathing.

'Small sips,' Anagan instructed gently, crouching down in front of Ogron and offering the bottle he'd snagged from inside. 'Slow and easy.'

'…Easy…?' That was all the sarcasm Ogron could manage, his will to argue pretty much shattered thanks to Neruman.

Anagan carefully helped him sip, murmuring soft encouragement in the hopes it would help, at least a little.

'There we go…it should at least help take the taste away…'

After a minute, Ogron pushed the bottle away, shaking his head weakly. 'Enough…'

'Okay.' Anagan knew Ogron well enough to know his limits, and he'd hit them. He'd also surpassed them, leading to this, which was a conversation that needed to be had, frankly.

Ogron sagged back again, gulping in air to try and keep the few sips down, his eyes closing as his skin shimmered with sweat.

Anagan, for his part, settled in next to him, slowly running his fingers through Ogron's damp hair, feeling his friend lean into the touch.

'Remember when you did this for me?' Usually, their silences were comfortable, but this one had felt so gaping that Anagan had just had to fill it.

'Mm…?'

'I was…nineteen? I made it half a foot, left a dreadlock behind, collapsed and couldn't stop throwing up for three days straight. You stayed with me, and kept telling me how to improve my technique.'

'…You whacked me with a cushion…' Ogron's voice, while shaky, was laced with exhausted amusement, and it strengthened Anagan's own speech.

'I was vomiting; I didn't want to hear about hand movements.'

'You were lucky…' Ogron mumbled. 'You got to lie in bed…Yllidith made me get back up and try again when I managed first time…'

'And that is but one of the many, many reasons why he is rotting in a cell…' Shifting just enough to be able to look into Ogron's glazed-over eyes, Anagan's tone changed, becoming slightly firmer. 'Ogron…you can't do this again.'

Ogron flinched, and Anagan felt him start to coil in on himself.

'No…no, this was a fluke…just…just getting used to it again…' Ogron was a skilled liar, but now the words just tumbled pleadingly from his lips, his voice cracking as his own weakness hit him. 'No…no, I can't be this weak…I can't…'

'Ogron.' Anagan caught his chin, making sure he had his attention, not his fears. 'Ogron, you made yourself really ill doing this. You can't try teleporting again, and you shouldn't be training Gregory.'

At this, Ogron truly recoiled. 'I don't have a choice, Anagan!' He retched again, but managed to keep it together, though his eyes swirled with panic and blinding fear. 'Neruman wants me doing it!'

'You're making yourself ill…'

'That'll just make him want it more!' Ogron shook under Anagan's touch, tears mingling with sweat as he stared pleadingly into his eyes, begging him to understand. And he did. He hated it, but Anagan did understand. Seeing Ogron suffer would just make Neruman enjoy forcing him to fight more. That sick bastard.

'I have to do this…' There was an undercurrent of determination in Ogron's words, a conviction, rather than resignation. 'I have to.' The certainty with which he spoke scared Anagan more than it should. It made him fear that Ogron had more invested now than just his fear of Neruman. This was at serious risk of becoming a way to prove himself strong, as he used to be.

'Then just…take it easy,' Anagan coaxed. 'Don't use spells that make you sick. You need to build your powers back up.'

'I'm starving and exhausted; how am I meant to do that?' Anagan truly had no answer for him.

'You think Ogron's alright?' God, what was with this kid and ruining perfectly good silence?

'I don't know, I haven't seen him,' Gantlos grunted, glancing hopefully towards the warehouse door. Where were they? When were they coming back? When were they taking Gregory away?

'He looked like he felt pretty sick…I think it's food poisoning. Oh damn, we eat the same food; you think I'll get it?'

'No.' 'No,' was a perfectly reasonable response. Gregory had asked a question presenting a situation, and Gantlos had asserted his lack of belief in that situation's probability. That should really be the conversation over. But apparently, Gregory didn't understand conversations.

'Can you get, like, magical food poisoning?'

'What now?' What? What was he going on about?

'I dunno, just food poisoning, but, y'know…magic.'

Gregory cocked his head, expecting an answer. He was gifted with another very clear, 'No.'

'Can you get magically sick at all?'

Gantlos froze. Yes. Yes, you could.

Gregory didn't notice the way Gantlos had stopped breathing, continuing on blindly. 'Like, you get a magic cold or something. Or the magic flu? What would magic symptoms even look like? Like, coughing fire or something?' Try screaming and writhing like you're lying on a bed of nails. 'Damn, actually, that sounds kinda cool…'

'No it doesn't!' Gantlos was practically spitting, clenching his fists so hard that he felt blood trickle under his nails. 'It doesn't sound cool!'

'Whoa! Dude, chill, I'm just thinking out loud.'

'Don't.' Most people knew to stop when Gantlos used that tone. Gregory did not.

'What's your problem? We're just talking.'

'No, you're talking. I'm trying to ignore your existence.' A bit harsh, but Gregory had just dragged roughly a million memories of Duman, sick and screaming, out from the back of his mind. He wasn't above snarling.

'Well good luck with that.' Gregory stalked over to stand over Gantlos, hands on hips. 'Can you ignore my existence now?'

'Go. Away.'

'What, so you can ignore me? Nope.' Well, this kid sure knew how to pick a fight.

'I said leave me alone.' Gregory stumbled back as Gantlos pushed him away, his eyes narrowing.

'Don't push me.'

'Don't bother me.'

'Just filling time.'

'Fill it away from me.'

'No.' Gregory walked over again, and this time he almost fell as Gantlos pushed him back.

'Back off.' Gantlos got to his feet, intending to stalk away before he had to punch this kid in the head.

'Don't push me!' Gregory appeared to have very complicated feelings on pushing. When Gantlos did it, it was worthy of being chastised. But apparently so long as it was Gregory shoving Gantlos so hard he almost staggered into the wall, pushing was absolutely fine.

Gantlos just stared for a second, one hand on the wall, steadying himself. Nobody had been dumb enough to shove him in a very, very long time. In fact, one of the last people to do it, besides Yllidith, had gained a new joint.

'How dare you…' Gantlos put every single fibre of his being into breathing, staying as calm as humanly possible.

'How dare I what, show the washed-up wizard that he's not as scary as he likes to think?'

Time stood still for a heartbeat as Gantlos watched the final straw fall. Then, finally, Gregory shut up. Being punched in the stomach will do that to a person.

'Gak-' Gregory heaved for a second, before his eyes burned green with rage. 'Oh, f*#k you!' The wall crumbled as Gantlos barely dodged the punch, gasping as the next one found its mark. Gregory's power was flowing into his hits, leaving Gantlos choking back the violent need to throw up as Gregory's fist met his gut. Well, if Gregory was using magic…

Something came damn close to snapping as the force of an earthquake met Gregory's shoulder, but all it served to do was fuel the teen's fury, his entire body blazing with vicious green energy. He was strong, and untrained, surely liable to kill someone without meaning to through simply not knowing his own strength. Fighting him was a stupid, deadly idea. These were the very sensible thoughts that did not go through Gantlos's mind as he threw another punch, the warehouse shaking as Gregory staggered back.

Fists, knees, elbows, everything just blurred together as nothing mattered but landing hits.

'You were an actual challenge for the Winx?' Gregory spat, wiping blood from his mouth as Gantlos gasped for air, struggling to breathe through the constant mutual assault. 'You're barely up to a back alley brawl!'

'Well then why don't you just go back to a damn back alley brawl?!' Gantlos roared, hurling Gregory to the ground, barely caring about the cracks that shot out around him.

'You invited me here, remember, Van Helsing wannabe?!'

'The hell is going on?!' Anagan appeared in the doorway in a blur, his eyes widening as he saw the two men brawling. 'Hey! Hey, both of you, break it up!'

Gantlos ignored him, lost in the fog of adrenaline and fury, the same storm that had taken Gregory. The kid's pupils were glowing, a bright, acidic green, his power flowing out in a wild rush.

'Why the hell did you decide to teach me if you don't want me here?!'

'You think we'd choose to bring some brat into our lives?!'

Gregory's eyes flickered, his stance softening slightly. '…What? If you didn't choose to train me…'

Gantlos froze. Dammit. If Gregory found out why they were doing this…why he was being trained in the first place…he'd run as fast and far as he could.

'Forget it.'

'What the hell is wrong with you two?!' Anagan demanded, finally able to get through to them.

'He pushed me!' Gregory snapped, like a child tattling to their mother, whining that 'he started it!'

'I told you to leave me alone…' Gantlos growled.

'Then why'd you bring me here?' Gregory demanded, not forgetting it at all. 'Seriously, why? You don't want me around, Ogron's beating himself down with no clear plan…why am I here?' His hair started to float in a curtain around his sweat-soaked face, and Anagan firmly inserted himself between the two forces of nature.

'Hey! Both of you, calm down.'

'I was calm. He decided to provoke me,' Gantlos growled, but a sharp look from Anagan shut him up.

'Gantlos, breathe. You need to calm down.' He shot a look to Gregory. 'You both need to calm down.'

'He's the one that f*#king shoved me-!'

'I said calm down. Your powers are too wild to lose your head like this.'

For the first time, Gregory glanced around at the warehouse, paling slightly as he saw the effects of their fight.

'…Shit.'

'Mhm…' Anagan put a hesitant hand on his shoulder, and Gregory relaxed slightly under the touch. 'You need to breathe, and focus on calming down.'

Gantlos scowled as Anagan took Gregory through breathing exercises. He was here too, if anyone happened to care.

'When you've finished babying him, I got pummelled too,' he remarked snappishly, refusing to crawl from the rage bubbling beneath his skin. It was hot, and strong, and something about it felt safe.

Anagan glanced around, his gaze filling with confusion and hurt. 'Gantlos…you have control. I'm just helping Gregory-'

'Yeah, whatever. I'll just take a walk, since he needs all your focus.' He didn't really know why he was talking like this. He didn't really care. Everything had gone to hell anyway, what was the point in caring?

'Gantlos, wait…' Anagan glanced between his friend stalking away, and the kid starting to hyperventilate as every twitch sent spiderweb cracks spiralling away from him. With a deep, resigned sigh, he stayed where he was, gently coaxing Gregory back to calm.

'Screw that kid,' Gantlos muttered, stomping outside. He could stomp without starting a quake. He had control. He was better, and he should have won that fight! He should have done a lot of things.

He hadn't picked a fight since he was Gregory's age. He had too much control, too much discipline to waste his time and powers on scrapping. But what else was he going to use his strength for now? Enacting Neruman's orders? Playing puppet? That fight had released so much anger, but it was barely a droplet lost from the sea roiling inside him. Not just anger, either. The anger was just the easiest to feel.

You were actually a challenge for the Winx? Gantlos punched the wall in fury as the words echoed through his mind.

'A challenge?' he muttered, his voice dripping with venom. 'A challenge? I could have killed those insects, you arrogant little-!' If Ogron hadn't made them retreat so many times, he could have destroyed those Winx. If the humans hadn't decided to put their faith in the first shiny thing they saw, he could have ripped out their wings. If they hadn't had those damned Specialists on their side, Roxy would have been theirs. If, if, if… If he hadn't let Duman go with Nabu alone, he'd still be there. If he'd gone with him…he was strong enough to destroy every last one of those walking capes, and he wished with every fibre of his being that he had.

Anagan could still feel the ground trembling as he guided Gregory to sit. These tremors were far too faint to be Gregory, and he knew that, somewhere on the estate, Gantlos was taking out his rage on some poor unfortunate wall. He wished he'd gone after him…he was obviously upset, but Gregory was barely keeping his powers under control, and Ogron was in no position to help… Ogron. Ogron, he had to get back to Ogron…but he couldn't leave Gregory…and he had to talk to Gantlos…

Priorities. Gregory first. He couldn't help but feel guilt churn in his gut at Gregory taking priority over his friends, but he was a natural disaster stuffed into a teenager.

'Okay, Gregory…' he soothed calmly, putting his hand on his shoulder, grounding, steady. 'Just breathe…'

'I'm breathing fine, why don't you just go after the brooder and stop him before his little tantrum breaks something?' Gregory snarked, glowering after Gantlos.

Anagan frowned, but kept his cool. Nothing good was going to come of snapping that it wasn't a tantrum, and that Gregory had lost it just as much as Gantlos. He had to stay calm, hold things together.

'He needs to cool off. And you need to get control.' He tried guiding him through some breathing exercises, but Gregory wasn't having any of it.

'You know what, this is bullshit! First, Ogron doesn't want me calm in training, now you want me to sit still and breathe?! You people need to make up your damn minds!'

'Gregory…' Anagan didn't even know where he was going with this. What did he say? They all wanted him to have control, but Neruman… They couldn't tell him about Neruman. He'd leave. As he should. What they were training him for was awful, but if he had to choose between Ogron's safety or Gregory's, it wasn't even a choice.

'Anagan?' Oh, dammit. Ogron staggered inside, visibly refraining from grabbing onto the doorframe for support. He'd asked him to stay put while he ran to investigate the sounds of fighting, but evidently, Ogron had ignored him, as he was wont to do.

'Ogron, sit down…' Anagan zipped over, offering Ogron support, even as his friend pulled away from it.

'I can walk…I'm feeling better now.' Anyone could see that was a lie. If anything, he looked worse. But he wouldn't listen.

'Damn, you look like hell,' Gregory remarked, standing up despite still crackling with untamed energy.

Ogron's eyes narrowed, but he didn't speak. Anagan would have liked to believe that it was because he knew when confrontation would only worsen a situation, but it was more likely because of the constant nausea visible on his face.

'Gregory, sit back down, Ogron-'

'Nah, he can have your attention; I'm done with breathing exercises.' Gregory stalked out, a decent chunk of wall falling down in his wake.

'Gregory!' Anagan took a step towards him, felt Ogron falter, and had to yet again rearrange his priorities. Ogron. Ogron had to sit, or he'd collapse. And then Gregory needed help. And Gantlos, though Gantlos wouldn't take his intervention well…

I…did not intend for Gantlos and Gregory to fight. They just tick each other off that much.