Back to the Drawing Board

Delete?

2012-02-15T16:36:00.001+08:00

I might delete this blog soon. Keyword here: might. After all, much of my story planning goes in my head, and most of the time, my writings are spontaneous, without much premeditation. I've got another blog to post any random thoughts, which pretty much reduces my need for this blog. But I'm a little reluctant about deleting this. I guess I'll wait and see.

Prologue

2012-02-08T15:20:00.002+08:00

  It was the smell of smoke that had roused him. It filled his lungs, burned the insides of his throat, making him cough and sputter to consciousness. He put out his hands in front of him, waving frantically as if to ward off phantoms, still coughing and choking on the thick plumes of smoke. His eyes snapped open, and for a moment he could only see a blur of vivid oranges and angry reds glaring back at him. He fought back the sudden dizzy spell that threatened to drag him back into unconsciousness, pulling the collar of his shirt up so it covered his nose and mouth. His skin seemed to burn with the heat radiating around the room.

      His legs were shaky, knees trembling as he pulled himself to his feet. He put a hand out to steady himself, but couldn't find anything to hold on to. Finally finding his balance, he shambled about in the room, now an unfamiliar inferno. Great columns of flame towered over him wherever he went as thick black smoke starved the air of oxygen. Disoriented, he stumbled around, blindly searching for an exit. He had to get out, fast.

      Sweat drenched his shirt, and the heat was so intense it threatened to drive him insane. Fighting off the urge to pull off his shirt, he repeated a word in his head like a mantra, reminding himself of his number one priority. Escape escape escape escape escape ...

      "Help!" a desperate cry erupted from somewhere off to his left. He turned, only to be met with a wall of fire. The flames seemed to lunge out at him, and he fell back a step, shielding himself with an arm. Going that way was a bad idea. More fire. More thick black smoke. Damn it -

      "Help me!" the same desperate woman's cry. He recognized the voice. No, it can't be -

      Against his better judgment, he jumped straight through the wall of fire, bracing himself for the pain ... but none came. He could feel the heat of the flames, yes, but no pain. There was no searing sensation rippling across his skin, and for a moment he thought he'd burned his skin so badly he couldn't feel a thing anymore. He stared down at himself for a moment. Untouched, as if he'd imagined that he had jumped through a wall of fire.

      "Help!" the voice again, more urgent now. A fit of coughing followed this.

      "Where are you?" he called out, voice hoarse from the dry air and smoke. His blue eyes searched, frantic, and found nothing but fire. Everything around him burned, and he couldn't identify anything familiar. The smoke was making him dizzy now, it seemed to make his head spin and for a moment he was certain he might pass out -

      No! He bit down on his tongue, hard enough to draw blood. The sting of it jeed him to alertness, the salty taste of his own blood making him gag in disgust. Blood had always made him feel sick; he spat it out, retching.

      "I'm right here!"

      "Where?" he coughed.

      And within the next few minutes of searching and navigating his way through thick smoke and flame, he found her, trapped under rubble. The fire had eaten away through almost everything in sight, and whatever had crumbled down had fallen on the woman. She was now trapped from waist down.

      "Help me," she pleaded, her gaze boring deep into his.

      But by then he'd already realized who she was, and instead of feeling sorry for her, he could only feel rage boiling within him. Gazing in those eyes, he didn't see love in them anymore, merely lies and betrayal. His hands curled into fists at his sides, nails digging into his palm.

      Help her, a distant part of his mind begged. After all, she's your -

      "No."

      Then he turned around and stepped into the flames, disappearing from sight.

AN: Rough draft, possibly the finalized prologue. Thoughts?

I'm Bitchy Like That Sometimes

2012-01-27T14:57:00.000+08:00

I hate it when I find bullshit on the Internet, because when I do, I keep on finding more in a seemingly neverending streak. I found some hate art on deviantArt (which some people called 'parody', but I disagree - parodies are funny; the one I saw was hardly funny, it was merely hurtful). And the artist responsible said that doing 'hate art' made him a 'real artist'. Bullshit, really. Hate art is not art at all. Art is a beautiful thing, and hate art is not beautiful. It's bitchy, it's ugly, and it has little respect for others. So I gave the so-called artist a piece of my mind (against my better judgment, but really, I'm like that sometimes) and wind up having his followers flame me one by one. By the second follower, I saw no point in replying, since I found it a) childish to argue like toddlers in a playground, and b) the comment pointless as it merely quoted selected phrases from my previous comment as a failed attempt at sarcasm. But that doesn't mean I give in to his fucked up opinions on art. Feeling somewhat dissatisfied, I posted a journal entry on my profile. Not to get people to back me up, but because it needed to be written. Here's what I wrote:

I have the highest respect for art. I do, because art is meant to be beautiful. It's expressive, and it conveys a message from the artist. It expresses his or her emotions, regardless of the positive or the negative. But when it's used as a medium to spread hate against a specific target, like starting a hate campaign with all those f-word expletives and such ... well, to me it taints the purity of art itself. It's not just tasteless and sick, but it's not even art anymore.

Sure, I believe in freedom of expression. But freedom of expression doesn't mean you have a licence to put down others and start a hate campaign. Hate is a misguided emotion, and makes you smear other people and abuse whatever authority or advantage you have to hurt others, and when you use it to draw hate comics, it's ugly. It's not art. And it's childish. It's tantamount to me drawing cartoons of my brother as a bug when he becomes a tattle tale to my parents. And that was when I was in primary school.

I mean, so what if you don't agree with someone's ideas? That's expected. We can't all have the same opinion. But is it mature, is it rational for you to draw something so hateful, and directing it all at said person? You dislike something, just say it to the person responsible (minus the uncivilized expletive-spouting, of course), for god's sake. Why can't we behave like real adults and real artists and have some respect for others?

And just try to put yourself in other people's shoes. What if you're the one on the receiving end of it? How would that feel? You work hard to create a piece of artwork, and someone slams you hard. I'm not talking about constructive criticism. I'm talking about the your-art-stinks-so-why-do-you-even-bother variety. And that's not all. What if someone in particular, posts a particularly offending (to you) piece of art and then rallies a bunch of people to support said person's actions?

Hate art is not art, people. It's not even professional. It's just plain disrespectful and wrong. Anyone can see that.

EDIT: Oh, and by the way, not making hate art is not about not 'hurting precious feelings'. It's about respect. If you can't respect another artist, then you don't deserve any respect yourself. You don't deserve the respect of a real artist. So quit bitching on the Internet like some cowardly cyber bully.

There. I haven't debated in a long while, so I suppose I've forgotten how to.

But anyway, Two Elements is taking a while, since I'm still debating on how to do the prologue. A particular event occurring in the outer arc, or something more vague? Oh, and I'm also writing out a timeline of things so I know how the story flows, so hopefully it'll be more organized. Yup.

Other sidenotes: Alexei Hunter is originally from the human world. He's Russian; the Hunter surname actually came after he went to the outer arc.

Character: Eduard

2012-01-22T21:56:00.001+08:00

Real name: Eduard Hunter

Date of Birth: 13th September 1995

Eye color: Blue

Hair color: Black
Parents: Alexei Hunter, Roxanne Hunter (née Forbes), Adele Hunter*
Spouse: NA
Children: NA
Powers: Fire manipulation
Other: Ellie's friend. Has a half sister who wants to kill him.
Author's comments: Ed's pretty much a normal kid ... until he discovers his powers, at least. ;)

*Adoptive mother; she's got the same last name, though

Prologue Rough Draft

2012-01-22T21:51:00.003+08:00

The prince sat on the throne quietly, his uncertain eyes drifting across the large room in search for some comfort. They found nothing except the cold, desolate walls and the unfriendly faces of ministers and palace guards. Not his guards, of course. And not his ministers. At least, not until the coronation, a dreaded ceremony that would make him king. That was in a matter of days, and all too soon, the throne he was sitting on would be his. The people in this room, the people outside the walls of this palace would be his responsibility. He couldn’t possibly be able to handle that. He was far too young, far too inexperienced.

The ministers could see that, of course. Through their eyes, he was just a boy wearing shoes that were far too big for him. Prince or not, he was barely nineteen, with a judgment clouded by rebellious thoughts. The country would not benefit from his rule, even though he was the sole heir to the throne. Of course, his ascend to the throne would have occurred much, much later if it hadn’t been for the untimely death of the king. Not that the old king was any better. The noble line had, as generations went by, become far less noble. And far less adept at ruling an empire.

This prince was proof of it, of course, with his odd eyes that trembled with uncertainty and a voice that quaked as he spoke. He had no air of authority, merely the arrogance of an adolescent. His decisions would prove to be unwise should he become king. And of course, if cornered, he would be easily swayed. Now, how awfully easy it would be for enemies to destroy the country. Perhaps they didn’t even have to. A little bribe, perhaps, would do the trick …

Of course, the prince knew that the ministers had little faith in him. He was determined to prove them wrong. However, he dreaded the thought of ruling an entire empire and he wanted nothing more than just to stay in his chambers with his wife and child. Up until now, that was all that mattered. His family. Beautiful Athanais, who was not of a noble line, but a woman of steel all the same. He had married her against his late father’s wishes, a decision that he had never regretted. His parents had every intention to pair him with a princess or at least a nobleman’s daughter, but the prince knew he couldn’t possibly love anyone more than he loved Athanais. And of course, young Phoebus. His heir, although he wished that the child wouldn’t have to inherit the throne … or the empire.

“Your Highness,” a voice spoke up, interrupting his reverie. The prince lifted his gaze to the wiry man kneeling before him. “Someone is here to see you. Says he won’t leave until he’s been let in.”

“Who is it?” the prince inquired with a raise of his brow. “Tell me, my good man.”

“I don’t know. He’s not of this country, I suppose. He dresses funny.”

The prince had no idea what he meant by funny, but let the visitor in anyway.

Character: Ellie

2012-01-02T03:06:00.000+08:00

Real name: Bianca Cloade (alias: Elliott Pierce, nicknamed Ellie)
Date of Birth: 7th June 1995
Age: 17
Eye color: Gray/silver
Hair color: Platinum blond
Parents: Bryce Cloade - deceased, Olivia Cloade (née Slater) - deceased
Spouse: NA
Children: NA
Powers: Water manipulation, mind reading, can sometimes fly by propelling steam in a downwards direction (basically, she carries a water supply which she uses as a steam engine)
Other: Her father was one of the king's knights, until the Organization came along. When accused of assisting Alexei Hunter's escape, he was sentenced to death by the Organization. Wracked with guilt, Bianca's mother committed suicide, leaving Bianca orphaned. Rather than submit to the Organization, Bianca ran away with her nursemaid, Elise, to the Inner Circle (a.k.a the mortal world) and used an alias. Being a tomboy, she opted for a masculine name - Elliot is a boy's name, by the way, and not used for girls at all. She smokes and is bisexual (although she considers herself to be a lesbian).
Author's comments: I like Ellie. She's my favorite character. In fact, I favor her more than Eduard, which is why poor Eduard isn't as developed as a character. I'll work on that soon. Heheh. (^_^);;

Character : Apollo

2012-01-02T02:50:00.002+08:00

Real name: Phoebus Heffernan XIII

Date of Birth: 5th November 1977

Age: 35

Eye color: Left - blue, right - hazel

Hair color: Black
Parents: Phoebus Heffernan XII - deceased, Arianna Heffernan (née Tanner) - deceased

Spouse: Athanais Heffernan (née Eldritch) - deceased

Children: Phoebus Heffernan XIV - deceased, Apollo Heffernan - deceased
Powers: Water manipulation, compulsion (glamouring, etc.)

Other: Originally the crown prince of the Outer Arc, he was forced to step down by the Organization. He is the remaining heir of the Heffernan line.

Author comments: I hadn't planned for him to be that old, but since I plan for Ellie to be born in 1995, and the whole Organization-takes-over-the-Outer-Arc thing starts before Ellie's birth. And yes, he had a wife. That's one thing I'll spill about his past, but mostly I'll keep things under wraps. ;)

Redirected

2011-12-12T13:14:00.000+08:00

The story is now on http://thetwoelements.blogspot.com

This blog will now be used for author's notes and drafts (e.g character profiles, rough excerpts, etc.)

It's going to be a while before I post anything decent, though.

AN: Rewrite

2011-12-08T23:21:00.001+08:00

Okay, so I know I've been away for so long due to some big ass exam I had to take and didn't really have time to get my creative juices flowing. But in between cramming my head with Physics and Chemistry, I had a few brief moments to think about the story and how it'll develop. I wrote a few drafts on the next couple of chapters too (very brief ones that were about a page or two) and realized that the whole thing just doesn't come together quite right. I realized that there were a whole load of flaws, plus I didn't lay enough foundation for the story to actually work, in terms of each character's past and how it would affect the way they interact with each other. While writing comes as easily to me as breathing, it is a complex thing and it can be so frustrating when things don't go as planned. As I recall, when I first planned out this story, it had a somewhat (okay, very) different storyline. For instance, I had a few more characters to meddle with and Angela was actually Eduard's younger half sister instead of being older.

And then there was the worry of Eduard's character. He's my main protagonist, and I had trouble trying to give him more depth. Instead, I focused more on Ellie (whose name had originally Michelle) and left Eduard to fend for himself. He wound up being underdeveloped and hardly believable, almost like a typical hero. To me, at least. Had he been insignificant to the story, I would have left it alone, but his very existence was the crux of my story. I had to do something. So , I decided to get a second opinion. And [this] is the result. Okay, I was surprised by her input, and it gave me more faith in Eduard being a solid character.

Which brings us to the next problem - how? I haven't written anything decent since late October (aside from boring school essays), and I'm afraid I might not be able to get back into writing. After all, skills come and go. Use it or lose it. I just hope I still can get back in motion. And I have to restructure the story so that every part fits like a well-tailored glove. So I suppose I'm going to start back at square one (I bet you guys are sick of this - when is this ass going to finish the damn story, eh?) where things aren't less of a mess.

So, I suppose that's all for now. Merry Christmas to those who celebrate it!

Chapter Eleven

2011-08-13T17:56:00.000+08:00

Desperate pounding on the backdoor. Stealing nervous glances behind him. Damn it, were they coming after him? Of course they were. He was their guinea pig. The real question was whether or not they were close by. It was past midnight and there would surely be agents on watch. Curfew was serious business around here.

C'mon, dammit,he thought furiously. Open the damn door!

His head hurt. And the left side of his torso was screaming with pain. The scratchy white fabric he was wearing was already caked with red in several places. His skin was littered with purplish bruises and angry red marks. He could still taste the coppery blood in his mouth. It was, he'd decided, pure hell.

Waiting was pure hell.

"Open up!" he cried in a voice he couldn't recognize as his own. Raw, hoarse. Exhaustion was clear in his ragged breaths, the way his shoulders were sagging. Never before had he felt so drained. And just moments ago he had been thrilled with such euphoria from escaping. The adrenalin pumping in his veins, his Craft pulsing throughout his very being. But he was tired now. Tired, so very tired. He would have to make a run for it soon, when the agents finally catch up.

The door opened after a long while, revealing a tired-looking Bryce standing in the doorway. His gray eyes seemed to sigh and the corners of his mouth were drooping down in agreement to his eyes. His face was unshaven and the stubble made him look even older than he was supposed to look.

"Alexei," Bryce sighed.

"Please," he pleaded. "You owe me one."

"You can't stay here."

Alexei's heart sank. Why? Why was he refusing to help? Had the Organization somehow managed to turn Bryce against him, too? No, that wasn't fair. They were cutting him off from all resource, cornering him until he would finally bend to their will. No. He wouldn't let that happen. He couldn't let it happen.

"Am I supposed to kill you too, now?" he growled, a horrible and twisted smile turning the corners of his mouth. "Traitor."

Bryce stepped back, hurt by the remark. It took him a few moments to regain his composure and after he did so, it was a threat that escaped his lips like bitter poison.

"Get out of here, or I'll call the agents."

Alexei threw back his head and laughed. Just what was the difference, anyway? He would still be caught, nonetheless. He shook his head as his laughter died down. Running a hand through his unkempt shoulder length hair, he met his old friend's eye.

"I understand," he said slowly. "You wouldn't want to be seen with Public Enemy Number One. All right. I won't bother you anymore."

"Heads up, mate!"

Eduard had been so distracted by the strange vision that had filled his head for a moment that he had lost track of where he was. By the time he realized that he was in the middle of a basketball game, one of the boys - his name was Nate, if Eduard wasn't mistaken - had lobbed the ball in his direction.

"Whoops!" Eduard cried as he caught it, almost letting it slip past his fingers. Fumbling for balance, he dribbled the ball across the court, ducking past the other boys. Sweat was trickling along his skin, but he still felt hot, as if he was on fire. To add to the chaotic state he was in, he had a massive headache and the strange hallucination had left much to be worried about. Just what the heck was that all about?

A momentary fugue, Ed, he told himself. That's it.

"Pass the ball!"

"I'm open!"

"Get the ball!"

Eduard ran; ball bouncing smoothly beneath his hand. He blocked out the shouts of the other boys and flung the ball into the basket. Everything moved past him in a blur. He could hear the pounding of his shoes against the ground, the excited cheer erupting among his teammates - boys he had only met mere seconds ago. His heart was pounding in his chest and he was out of breath. His head was throbbing too.

And something just didn't feel right.

"Ellie." The name slipped out involuntarily. Panting hard, he swallowed. In the next breath, he murmured, "Ellie who?"

Slowing down, he let go of the ball, letting it bounce away into the tangled mess of boys fighting for it. Cold sweat drenched his skin, chilling a thin line all the way down his spine.

Ellie who?

But you know her, another part of his mind insisted. You know her.

He fell to his knees, suddenly aware of something else happening. His skin tingled, and he wasn't sure if it was in a good way or a bad way. It felt as if someone was passing an electric current through him, and god damn him, it felt good. In a way. Funny, but good. It made him feel giddy, for some reason. It made him feel like laughing. It was like cocaine, setting his senses on fire. Lighting him up like a Christmas tree full of decorations.

"Shit," he swore through gritted teeth.

It was electric, like sticking a spark plug in his heart.

"You all right, mate?" Nate's voice, but it sounded so distant.

Electric.

"You okay?"

Even better than okay, Eduard thought.

Like Christmas, when they all lit up the lights. When they put the star at the top of the tree.

No, that wasn't it. That wasn't exactly it. Lights were bright, but that was it. This was better than light. It was ...

Explosive.

Like fireworks.

A hand closed around his shoulder, but he didn't feel it anymore. A split second later, he was bursting into flame.

Chapter Ten

2011-07-31T02:26:00.000+08:00

"Just what," said Ellie warily, "are you playing at?"
          Apollo drew nearer, fixing his intense gaze upon her. Ellie drew back uneasily as he leaned in closer and closer, until she could smell his aftershave. He smelled good, although Ellie would rather die before she'd admit this to him. She couldn't quite put her finger on what he smelled like, though. It was like smelling an exotic spice, something foreign and novel. And it was good. More than good, actually. Ellie closed her eyes and breathed in.
          "Who said this is a game, Ellie?" Apollo rasped as he reached a hand to caress her cheek. Ellie flinched at his touch. His hand was cold, like ice. Her eyes snapped open and she was pulled back into reality - just what the heck was she doing? Damn it, what was he doing to her?
          Pheromones, she thought disgustedly. Damn animal.
          "Stop," she muttered. "Now."
          Apollo just stared at her. A bemused smile crossed his features as he spoke.
          "Really, milady?" he mused. "And there I thought you were having fun."
          "Creep," Ellie hissed. "I want my clothes back."
          "Well, that's too bad because I burned them."
          "What? Why?"
          "Let's just say mortal filth is bad for the Outer Arc," said Apollo. "And we'll leave it at that. But for now ..."
          Ellie felt the air around them lose its moisture. For some reason, the atmosphere began to dry, becoming not unlike that of a desert at night. The air became so dry, she found herself coughing as her lungs tried to adapt to the sudden dry spell. In the same instant, she could see tiny droplets of water beginning to form in the air, getting bigger and bigger little by little. And the droplets seemed to solidify, forming what looked like tiny crystals suspended in the air. Was Apollo doing this? She had to wonder as she reached out to touch one of the crystal-like things. It reflected to dim lights well, sparkling like fragments of glass.
          Just as she was about to ask Apollo what kind of magic trick he was playing on her, some of the crystals had levitated to her, coming to rest around her neck and forming a chain around it. Startled, Ellie poked at it tentatively, surprised to see that the crystals had formed quite a lovely necklace.
          "A gift," Apollo clarified as she looked up at him and gave him a questioning look. "From the Crown Prince of the Outer Arc."
          "I don't want it," Ellie argued. "Take it back."
          Apollo was about to reply when his cellphone rang. Irked, he turned away from her and answered the phone. He talked for a few minutes, discussing something Ellie wasn't even sure of. And by the time he had finished, Ellie was quite confused about the situation at hand.
          "We'll be right there," Apollo murmured to the person on the other end of the line, just before hanging up. Replacing the device in his pocket, he gazed at Ellie and said, "Time to go. The Outer Arc awaits."
          Moments later, Ellie found herself seated at the front of Apollo's car, somewhat relieved that they weren't in a closed room alone. She had that to be grateful for, at least.

          "Ellie."
          Ellie who? a voice in his head asked.
          "Good question," Eduard mumbled to himself. His head was pounding and his entire body felt strange. He felt as if he was on fire, as if he was being swallowed up by its heat. God, was this how guilt felt like? He shouldn't have left his family in the burning house. He should have at least tried to save them, even if there was no way out.
          "Damn," he cursed.
          As he paced down the desolate road, something slammed into the side of his head, hard. It made his headache worsen; his entire body was ringing with pain. Cursing and swearing, he tried to get his bearings again. He caught sight of a basketball at his feet, and as he turned to one side, he could see a group of figures arguing at the little basketball court not so far from the playground.
          "Hey, throw us the ball," one of the figures called out. "C'mon, dude, we want to play."
          "What the fuck," Eduard muttered as he strode over to the group of boys and lobbed the ball in the direction of them.
          "Thanks, mate," said another boy, one with jet black hair and tan skin. "Say, would you like to join our game?"
          Game? Eduard wondered. But well, what the heck; his head was killing him. He needed to focus on something other than this weird day. He hesitated for a moment, wondering what harm could possibly come from playing a little basketball?
          "Sure," he muttered as he forced a smile. Damn that headache. "Why not?"
          As he joined the group of boys, he pushed back whatever supposedly important thought he had been having just moments ago into the farthest reaches of his mind. He didn't need all of that right now, thank you. He simply needed to take his mind off this unsettling day.
          You fucked up murderer, he thought. Your family is dead and yet here you are having fun and games. That's just so cruel, Mr Hunter. That's by far way disturbing. So congratulations, you monster.

Chapter Nine

2011-06-08T01:14:00.000+08:00

"Your room is over there," Apollo said as he gestured at a room down the hallway, "and mine is ... oh, never mind that. The bathroom is near the pantry, which is over there ..."
          Ellie pretended to listen, disinterested in the little details of Apollo's tiny apartment. There was hardly anything interesting here; it all looked so mundane. And Apollo was anything but mundane and ordinary. This place hardly showed what he was like. Of course, Ellie didn't know much about the monarchy that ruled all of Outer Arc before the Great Revolution occurred (and even the things she knew about the Great Revolution was because Apollo had told her; after all, the events that took place during the Great Revolution happened around the time she was born). But she did know that before the Great Revolution, Apollo was the heir to the throne.
          "Please," he implored, "make yourself at home."
          "Why?" Ellie asked. "I thought we're going to the Outer Arc."
          "Not just yet, milady," Apollo replied. "I have a few phone calls to make, and you ought to get out of those filthy clothes."
          Ellie stared at Apollo incredulously. "Just what do you think I am?"
          "There are fresh clothes in your room," Apollo muttered flatly. "Take a shower, if you'd like. I'll even wash those disgusting clothes for you." Apollo finished his sentence with another of his creepy I-can-see-right-through-you stares. Ellie couldn't help but shiver at the stare; why was it that the stare always made her feel naked?
          "What's wrong," Ellie fumed, frustrated, "with my clothes?" She gestured down at her pea green turtleneck and jeans, although she was almost certain that Apollo could see right through them. She might as well have been naked.
          "Nothing, milady," he replied with a smile, "except that there's nothing interesting about them."
          "Stop calling me that!" Ellie snapped, groaning in frustration.
          "Would you rather have me call you Bianca, then?"
          At this point, Ellie had no comeback for that. She simply stormed off, exhaling through her nose. She slipped into her room - at least, the room that she thought Apollo said was hers - and slammed the door shut. She heaved a sigh as she looked around. More boring apartment furniture. Standard single bed, wardrobe and desk. Nothing much, except there happened to be clothes and a towel on the bed.
          Ellie settled on the bed and examined the clothes Apollo must have left for her. There was a dress, along with - gasp - underwear.  The first thing she picked up was a beaded dress. It was a bluish purple color - or was it purplish blue? - and it looked expensive. But more importantly, it looked as though it wouldn't cover much.
          Great god! she thought. Just what does he think I am? His personal slut?
          Or maybe he just didn't know her size.

          Eduard broke into a run all of a sudden. He had no idea why, but he suddenly felt the need to run, to get away from everything, to just escape ... God, what the hell was wrong with him? He'd become a merciless, cold blooded murderer! Not that he had actually stabbed his mother and Taran to death with a knife or anything, but he might as well have! After all, he had been wishing for their demise, right after leaving them to die in their burning house. Didn't that count as murder already? He might as well have been Jack the Ripper!
          You little ass, you murderer, murderer!
          Those thoughts kept running in his head over and over again in a never ending tape loop, driving him to the point of raw insanity. He felt like screaming, like jumping off a cliff and breaking all of his bones into pieces. What the heck had he done? What exactly went on back there? He was a killer, a murderer!
          Stop it, stop it! You're overreacting! Stop it, you're just in shock! the rational part of his brain snapped, but the rest of him wasn't listening. Well, how could he? He simply kept driving himself forward, pushing his already aching legs to their limit. Maybe soon he would be starved of oxygen and it'll be over. Maybe, just maybe ... Fuck wishful thinking.
           Finally, his legs gave out from beneath him and he fell flat on his face on the pavement. Pain exploded in his head, and for a split second, he blacked out. And when he came to his senses, he realized that he had been forgetting something important. Something very important. What was it? What exactly had he forgotten?
          He pulled himself up off the ground and dusted himself, wondering and pondering what he had forgotten. It had something to do with school and -
          Wait.
          "Ellie."

          Ellie wrapped the towel around her body and stepped out of the bathroom. She took a quick glance around before running to her room. That was the problem when the bathroom was so far away. And she had no intention of giving Apollo any free peep shows. And she definitely wasn't going to put on that dress.
          But to her horror, she realized that her clothes were gone! That was weird - she was certain she'd left them on the bed. Unless that sneak Apollo had taken them. Which, after much consideration, was very likely. After all, Apollo - where was he, anyway? - was the only person in the apartment, other than herself, of course.
          "There has to be something else to wear!" Ellie cried as she tried to open the wardrobe. No luck there - it was locked, save for the bottom drawer, which held a shoebox. Ellie had opened it and much to her dismay, there was a pair of what looked like four inch pumps. It would kill her to walk in those. Oh, she really wanted to kill Apollo now!
          "That asshole!" she fumed as she threw her hands up in frustration. And since there was nothing else to wear, she had no choice but to put on the dress. It was, surprisingly, a perfect fit. And apparently the dress was cut to show off her figure. Not that Ellie had much to show off, anyway. She had always been a little too skinny and a little too short, despite the fact that she ate like a shark.
          "Beautiful," someone spoke, making Ellie jump. She knew the voice, of course; it was Apollo. How the heck did he get in? Or did she forget to lock the door?
          "Haven't you heard of knocking?" she snapped, refusing to turn around and look at him.
          "It wouldn't have made a difference," Apollo replied flatly.
          "Oh, yes, it would," Ellie replied. "I wouldn't have let you in."
          "You didn't lock the door."
          "Oh."
          "Come on, Bianca," Apollo said. "You should be happy I went through all the trouble to get you all this stuff."
          "I'm not your personal whore."
          At this, Apollo laughed. And it wasn't a cold, humorless chuckle either. This was genuine, sunny peals of laughter. It didn't last long, however, and soon enough Apollo had regained his composure.
          "If you were that, Bianca," he said slowly, "you wouldn't be wearing anything right now."
           "I thought it's strictly business only," Ellie muttered, trying to keep her voice from quivering.
          "It is. And we'll be leaving for the Outer Arc soon."

Chapter Eight

2011-06-02T03:55:00.000+08:00

Taran gritted his teeth as he tried to find a way out of the burning room. One hand was curled around his mother's wrist, holding it tightly as if she might disappear at any second. Obviously he was afraid for his mother's life. He waved his other hand in front of him frantically, batting at the smoke. Coughing and sputtering as he dove for the door before the flames could reach it. For something that started out as a tiny flame on the bed, it had quickly raged into a blazing inferno.

Shit, he swore inwardly as he broke into a run. He was racing down the hallway now, with Adele in tow. He wanted to risk a glance back, to see if the flames were catching up, but he was afraid of what he might see. Fighting the urge to stop and look back, Taran forced himself to run faster, bolting down the stairs as fast as he could manage. The smoke was still inflaming his lungs, the smell of it choking him. He could still feel the heat from the flames, as if he was all but five inches away from it.

Suddenly, he heard his mother scream. He felt her stiffen in his grip and knowing that something bad must have happened, he slowly turned around. Spiders' legs of fright crawled down his back, sending chills along his spine as he realized that yes, the flames were dangerously close behind. In fact, the fire had singed part of Adele's shoulder.

"How'd they get here so fast?" he croaked.

He willed himself to run faster, leaping down the staircase two steps at a time, but then he stopped short when he realized that there were flames blocking the path in front of him.

"What the-"

Just what the hell were you thinking? Eduard chided himself, finally coming to senses about what he'd just done ... and what evil thoughts had been in his head at the time. You idiot!

For a while, he'd buried his face in his hands and wept. But then he realized that it didn't help much, he went for a long walk in the neighborhood. After all, he had never really had a chance to go out much and that pretty much made him a stranger there, despite the fact that he had been living there for all his life. But then again, what had his entire life been all this while? His family wasn't really his family, and it was all a great fat lie.

Liar, liar, pants on fire. The pills go down and gets you fucking higher, Eduard mused inwardly.

He stuffed his hands into his pockets and walked down the street miserably, wondering what exactly was he to do next, now that his so-called mother and brother were dead. Or at least, he supposed that they were dead, considering how quickly the fire had spread.

His mother and Taran. Dead.

He mulled this over, turning the thought round and round like a carousel in his mind, testing the idea. They were dead. Dead, dead, dead. Dead-dead-dead-dead ... Dead ... He wondered why that somehow, he didn't seem so bothered by the thought. And it bothered him so, how he wasn't the least bit shaken by the idea of his mother (she may not necessarily be his biological mother, but she was his mother after all, right?) and his brother being killed in a fire. Just what the heck was wrong with him? What was he, a monster? No human in his or her right mind would think such a thing!

"Doesn't matter," he murmured quietly, "doesn't matter."

Chapter Seven

2011-01-30T20:57:00.000+08:00

"Tell me," Apollo mused, "what do you remember about the Outer Arc?"

Ellie turned away to avoid looking him in the eye. His strange gaze was, somehow unsettling. It reminded her of someone else, someone she didn't want to remember. Not that she remembered much, anyway. There were bits and pieces, things that didn't make any sense at all. Only one thing remained clear: her hatred for the Organization. Why she hated it, she couldn't remember. Aside from the obvious reason, of course. She'd always blamed her parents' deaths on the Organization. But there was something else, something that had to do with her mother and one of the Organization's men.

"Not much," she murmured. "Just tiny bits and pieces."

"But you remember the Organization," Apollo confirmed, "and me."

"How could I forget you?" Ellie hissed as she knifed him an angry look. "You betrayed me."

          Apollo raised a brow. "Touché."
          "Care to explain why?"
          He turned away. "You don't need to know that."
          Ellie grabbed a hold of his tie and yanked it, making him face her again and hissed, "Yes, I do. I can't trust you if you do this to me."
          "Do what to you?" Apollo's voice was a low growl, laced with a hint of a threat. A sneer curled his lips as he spoke. It unsettled Ellie a little, but at this point, she was far too irked to be bothered with his strangely eerie heterochromatic eyes. "I saved you from being a pawn in the Organization's plans; you ought to be thanking me, my dear Lady Cloade."
          "And made me a pawn in your plans. You sold my parents out to the Organization to save your own ass. And then you manipulated me to suit your own selfish need."
          Apollo's eyes were deadly. Anger flashed in their jagged irises, telling Ellie that she'd crossed a line - and that it was best that she back away before anything bad happened. Ellie could tell that he was having trouble keeping his composure. The sneer on his face appeared to become more pronounced for a split second before he erased all trace of expression from his face.
          "You don't know anything, milady," Apollo rasped. "You wouldn't know about the monarchy that ruled the Outer Arc before Lionel Ashcroft changed things."
          "That has nothing to do with anything," Ellie replied.
          Apollo studied her face for a moment, as if deciding whether or not to strangle her to death. Ellie flinched under his scrutiny, realizing that this was a different side of Apollo. There was something strangely off about him. Apollo had always been a rather strange and unsettling character, but in that moment he seemed a little more than just unsettling. Frightening, even.
          Something flashed in Apollo's eyes for a moment, a glint of an unfamiliar emotion that wasn't quite malicious. But before Ellie could tell what it was, it was gone from his eyes, replaced by Apollo's usual cool but creepy gaze.
          "You're right," he muttered quickly, seeming to have regained his calmness. He rose to his feet and straightened his tie. "And I reckon it's about time we get going."

          "The fuck?!" Taran hissed as he tried to put out the flames. "What did you do now, you freak?"
           "I swear I didn't do anything!" Eduard protested. "Everything suddenly caught fire!"
          "Stop it, you two! Let's get out of here!" Adele ordered. "We can't do anything about the blaze now."
          All around them, the flames raged, eating away at every inch of the room. Bright yellow fire flickered and danced around the room, running up and down the walls, searing scars in the floor and the furniture. Tendrils of it threatened to engulf the three of them, the heat radiating from them making Eduard sweat as smoke filled the air.
          "Well, at least save the damn house!" Taran snapped. "We won't have anywhere to go if this dump gets burned to the ground! Shit, hasn't anyone called 911?"
           "Don't be stupid, Taran! What's a house if we're all dead?"
          Eduard didn't say anything to either of them; he simply bolted out through the door and ran.

          You ass, he chided himself. Finally safely away from the raging inferno, Eduard had realized that he'd left his mother and brother behind ... and he wasn't even sure if they had gotten away safely or not. For all he knew, they might have been trapped by the blaze and couldn't make it out in time ...
          Not your problem, a voice spoke in his head. A different and more rebellious voice Eduard couldn't recognize as his own. As if they're your real family.
          A strange feeling stirred within him. It was like the fire that had raged just moments ago. A blazing inferno full of life and energy. He couldn't quite describe it; there was no word for this emotion. There was nothing he could compare it to, except for the inexplicable fire that had started in his room. It was almost magical. And he liked it. He loved he way it felt. He didn't know why, but it felt good.
          "Yeah," he whispered to himself as a smile curled his lips. "They could go to hell, for all I care."

Chapter Six

2010-12-19T01:16:00.000+08:00

          "Are you all right, honey? You're not coming down with a fever, are you?" His mother was looking at him with a look that practically screamed concern. Adele Hunter stood on tiptoe, placing a hand on his forehead. Somehow, the gesture felt awkward to Eduard: he was already much taller than his petite mother. Even his brother, Taran, who was five years his senior, was almost a head shorter than him.
          "Yeah, I'm okay," he lied as he slowly brushed her hand away.
          "Are you sure? You look a little pale."
          From the kitchen, Taran said, "Yeah, sure, mom. Make sure little Eddie over there is okay while your real son is suffering in here!" His voice had taken on a certain edge, and Eduard knew that Taran was not in a good mood. Moments later, as Taran lumbered into the living room, Eduard knew he was right. By the look of it, Taran was hungover from his night out partying with his ruffian friends.
          "Now, don't start this again," Adele muttered, a hint of reproach creeping into her voice. "You're no less my son than Eddie is."
          "Yeah, right, mom," Taran hissed icily. "I certainly wasn't left at our door by some weirdo, unlike that leper over there." He jerked his chin at Eduard.
           "Taran-" she broke off, and sighed. Her gaze slid to Eduard, and a look of discomfort crossed her features for a moment. There was a pause, and she muttered, "Go to your room, Eddie. Now."
          Eduard blinked. That was unexpected. Taran was the one acting out and he was the one she chose to dismiss? Now wasn't that a little ... strange? He pondered on this as he shambled off to his room. He'd only began to shut the door when his curiosity got the better of him. This was something he'd never encountered before in the Hunter household. He decided to eavesdrop.
          He crept down the stairs, trying his best to keep out of sight. He listened hard, but it didn't take much effort to hear what his brother was saying. It took a lot more effort to hear the hushed whisper that was his mother's voice.
          "Why are you always defending him?" Taran exploded.
          "Now, come on, Taran," Adele coaxed. "You know it's not like that ..."
          "Yeah, right, mom. You could've just left him at some hospital or something! I mean, you even went through all the trouble of going to court just so you could keep the little brat! Even when you knew we couldn't manage, with dad being the sorry bastard that he is and how hard you have to work just to be able to keep our apartment!"
          "Taran, just listen to me for once-"
          "No, mom! Why don't you listen to me?" Taran cried. "It's not about feeling sorry for him, in spite of what you tell me and yourself every fucking day. You want him to be yours. You wish that he really is your son, instead of some leper you decided to take in, and do you know why, mom?" A pause. Hysterical laughter. Taran's laughter. "You want to believe that the good boy you raised is really yours! You want to believe that you didn't fail as a mother! You see Eduard as a second chance, after seeing how I grew up to be a disappointment! You gave up on me, mom, even back when I was a toddler who knew nothing."
          "That's not true-"
          "Then why don't you just tell him where he came from?" Taran hissed.
          "I-" Adele began, then stopped. She was hesitating, trying to find a good reason.
          No, Eduard thought furiously. No. That can't be true.
          He slipped into his room, closing the door behind him and locking it, locking himself away in his tiny bedroom and trying to forget what he had heard. Trying to un-hear everything, to undo what had been done. He couldn't, and the harder he tried, the more sense everything seemed to make. He shut his eyes tight, trying to clear his thoughts. His head was aching, and every discomfort he'd experienced seemed to be amplified, magnified a thousand times.
          He's weird. Why doesn't he look like either of us? Taran's voice, a memory. He had been five at the time, and Taran was ten.
          That's because he looks more like Daddy. This was Adele's reply.
          "Stop that," he growled as he sank to his knees on the floor, burying his face in his hands.
          What's Daddy like? He pictured his eight year old self, posing that question to Taran.
          How should I know, Taran muttered in response. He's a fucking bastard who's also an irresponsible drunk who took off the moment he realized that he'd got mom pregnant.
          Why the heck didn't he notice how that story didn't add up? If their father had left the moment their mother told him she was pregnant, that would mean that she'd only have one child: Taran. Unless she went out with someone else after that (which was highly unlikely, considering the fact that Adele had only mentioned one 'Daddy', and was too busy to be with any other guy) and had him ...
          "Damn it," he muttered through gritted teeth. "And they fucking didn't tell me!"
          A strange emotion filled him. He wasn't quite sure what it was, but it felt a lot like rage, and ... something else. Something that felt more potent. Something that made his skin grow hot and the blood in his veins boil. It was as if there was a dormant volcano inside of him suddenly springing to life.
           That would probably explain why his room suddenly combusted.

          "Well, don't just stand there, my dear," Apollo drawled. "Go inside."
          Ellie hesitantly walked into the apartment. Apollo followed her shortly and closed the door behind them. Ellie ignored him and merely chose to scrutinize the apartment, which looked nothing like home. It was bare, save for a sofa and a television set in the living room. Not very far from it was a kitchenette, which had little. A fridge, a microwave, dirty dishes in the sink ... She couldn't see any bathrooms or bedrooms, but she was sure that there was at least one or two down the narrow hallway to her left. Unless this was more of a studio home of some sort; she doubted that.
          "Nice ... place," she muttered sarcastically.
          "I can hear the sarcasm in your voice, Bianca. Don't give compliments if they're not sincere," Apollo muttered in response to her comment.
          Ellie whirled around to face him. "It's Ellie now. Don't call me Bianca anymore. I'm Ellie. Say it with me: El-lie. Get it?"
          "Cute," Apollo replied quietly. "At least I won't have to bother to come up with an alias for you when we go."
          "Why are we going?" Ellie asked. "I don't reckon they want me back."
          "No," Apollo confirmed. "They don't."
          "And ... you didn't hurt Ed, did you?" she asked nervously, recalling the fight, as well as the moments after it.
          "Just a memory spell," he replied as he met her eye, making her shiver with repulsion. "On him and the rest of the people present when we ad our little discussion today. Don't worry, it won't mess anything else up. But if he does try to regain his memory, then brain damage would be ... inevitable. But he can't really be that stupid, right?" He grinned. "On a different note, however, I would explain to you why I'm taking you back to that hellhole, but I'll only tell you enough to shut you up."
          Ellie turned away. "You won't shut me up that easily. There's a lot I need to know."
          But Apollo shook his head. "Not what you need to know, dear. You only think you need to know those things, but the truth is, you only want to know. There's a huge difference in that, considering the fact that most of your questions would sum up to useless nuggets of information anyway. Where we're going, the only thing you need to know is how to survive in what I call the Hitler regime, and how to infiltrate and take down the Organization."
          Ellie looked up. "The Organization?"
          Apollo smiled. "Now we're on the same page."

Chapter Five

2010-12-04T01:06:00.000+08:00

Burn. Just let it burn.

He never thought he would escape the prison, but he did. And it felt good, so good. His sore, aching muscles were soothed by the feel of the cool night air against his skin. His entire body was still warm, still hot and feverish from using his Craft. But the air felt good. Even the damp, after rain smell was good. He had always had a slight aversion to rain, but he'd never felt so happy, so euphoric ...

The sound of footsteps alerted him. His muscles tensed, and in spite of the aches and pains, he knew he had to run. They would come for him, sooner rather than later. He was a threat to them. He knew that, didn't he? When the Organization rose to power, they offered him and Roxanne a place, as one of the Hunters. Roxanne accepted, choosing to sniff out Impurities and Blanks to be eliminated. He refused, and they had found an excuse to dispose of him. To remove him. The fact that he was an Impurity was enough to justify their actions in capturing him, but Lionel Ashcroft had wanted him out of the picture completely.

And then they came up with a plan to drag my name through the mud as well as kill me, he thought as he sprang into a run. Like the out-of-control flames he could manipulate, he was almost weightless, quick on his feet. It was almost like flying. But he was already exhausted from using his Craft to escape. He wasn't sure how long he could keep up his pace. He would have to hide soon, but where would he go? There was no one he could trust. Roxanne had betrayed him by joining the Organization. Who did he have left?

Bryce Cloade, he decided. His only hope. But was Bryce still on his side? He didn't know. He didn't know at all. He only could hope. That was all he had left, he realized. Hope.

And with this tiny shred of hope, he set off in direction of the Cloades' residence.

When Eduard woke up, he found himself lying on the ground, in the school parking lot. He had no idea how he wound up there, or what had happened in the past few hours. He could recall himself walking to school and straight to Homeroom, but the events that followed, right up to the point where he woke up here, were a great empty blank. No matter how hard he'd tried, he kept drawing a blank. And he felt sick. Not just plain sick, but sick as in a full blown fever sick.

He dragged himself home, feeling rather groggy and feverish. He was definitely coming down with something. His head hurt.

Have I been mugged or something? he wondered. He reconsidered, and found it not possible. Nothing was missing, except for his memories for the past few hours, but who would want to steal that? And who could steal memories, anyway? He was probably in some sort of fugue state, and would snap out of it soon. That was what he hoped, at least.

His arm had a dull ache; upon closer inspection, he'd noticed a bruise on it. It wasn't even a big enough one to warrant concern. His throat ached a little, too, and there was a bad taste in his mouth. Bitter and a little bit sour, not unlike vomit. That, and added with his elevated body temperature and headache, made him feel like hell.

I shouldn't have gotten out of bed, he thought miserably.

Ellie was in the passenger seat of Apollo's Mercedes. She wasn't really sure what model it was, but she didn't really care. What she cared about was an explanation, and Apollo wasn't giving her any. He was simply driving in a rather nonchalant manner, while the radio belted out The Academy Is ... He didn't really bother looking at her. Every now and then he hummed the tune of Everything We Had, regardless of what song was playing. Once or twice, his cell phone rang. Once, he ignored the call until the caller gave up. On the second call, he took the call.

"Faulkner," he muttered quickly. There was a long pause, then Apollo slid his gaze - his creepy, see-right-through-you gaze - to Ellie, who drew back uncomfortably. He flicked his gaze back to the road as he said, "Yeah, she's with me. Well, I'm running a little late. An unexpected ... inconvenience occurred. But it's all taken care of now. Trust me, I'm not the one you should worry about. Like I said, keep an eye on Friday."

He ended the call, slipping his phone back into the front pocket of his Dockers. He shifted his gaze to Ellie for one more moment before returning his attention to the road.

"Well?" Ellie mumbled.

"'Well' what?" Apollo asked, turning his head to look at her and giving Ellie the full blown effect of his eyes.

"Aren't you going to tell me anything? I deserve an explanation."

"Yes, but this is hardly the time and place. You'll know everything in time. Trust me."

"Why am I going back?" Ellie huffed. "I know they don't want me back. Are you taking me there to kill me? I think you might as well do it now; it'll save you all the trouble."

"I don't want to kill you, Bianca," Apollo replied.

"Then why?"

Apollo didn't reply. He turned his attention back to the road ahead, driving on without another word. Ellie decided not to say anything else. She stared straight ahead as Apollo took them down an unfamiliar road. Ellie definitely didn't recognize this long stretch, and wondered why he was going through the trouble of driving her this far away. As she recalled, one couldn't reach the Outer Arc by car ... nor through any average means of transport.

"Can't you just open a portal to the Outer Arc?"

"We're not going there. At least, not yet."

Ellie frowned. So, if he wasn't taking her back to the Outer Arc yet ... then where was he taking her?

Chapter Four

2010-12-03T01:19:00.000+08:00

          Ellie always had skeletons in her closet. But she had never expected them to come out of the closet and come haunt her, especially not this far into her life, since everything that had happened took place a long time ago. She had thought she could outrun her past.
           My mistake, she thought miserably. Apparently Bianca Cloade still existed.
          And now Apollo was here to get her, for reasons beyond her comprehension, and because Eduard was her friend, he was suffering because he happened to be unlucky enough to associate with her. Eduard was going to die, almost literally by his own hands. And she was too helpless to do anything except watch. And maybe scream at Apollo.
           "You bastard!" she screamed. "Leave him out of this! He knows nothing about us! Let him go! I'll follow you back to the Outer Arc if you want; just leave him alone!"
            Eduard was on his knees on the ground, and Ellie could see that all the fight was abandoning him; his struggles had ceased and he was already slipping into unconsciousness. A few more seconds and he might ...
            "I said stop! Didn't you hear me? I said I'll go with you! Just leave him alone!" she cried hysterically.
            Apollo's unusual eyes flicked to her, and his grip on Eduard relaxed. Ellie shot a glance at Eduard, who had regained control of his own hands. He was coughing and gasping as he took several gulps of air. He leaned against the T-Bird behind him to balance himself, and as soon as he had regained enough strength, he slowly rose to his feet, eyeing Apollo warily.
          "Your ... companion here knows enough," Apollo countered. "Even the slightest bit of information could risk the exposure of the existence of the Outer Arc to the filthy mortals here. You know how these vermin can't keep their mouths shut."
          "What do I care?" Ellie spat. "The Outer Arc exiled me, remember. The Organization kicked me out after constructing their lovely dystopia called New Secron. And even if the people here know, what's the risk? New Secron isn't a place they'd want to go. Case closed."
          Apollo's cool gaze was deadly. "You wouldn't know about that, Bianca. Now, are you coming or not? I've spared your friend ... for now."
           "When do we leave?" Ellie asked. She heaved a sigh. Apparently, she was going to be Bianca Cloade again. But ... why was she going back? She frowned, and then shot a glance at Apollo. "But why am I going back? As I recall, they'd exiled me ... They wouldn't want me back. Won't they ...?"
          Apollo opened his mouth to answer, but stopped short when his tie suddenly caught on fire. Ellie jumped at the sight of the pale yellow flames shooting up all of a sudden, but Apollo was calm. He seemed merely annoyed as he patted the flames out and undid his tie. He discarded the burnt garment on the ground nonchalantly.
          "Quite unexpected," he mused as he raised an eyebrow. "Spontaneous combustion is interesting."
          Just then, a wall of blue flame sprang up from the ground, forming a barrier between Apollo and Ellie. Ellie drew back, not wanting to be harmed by the fire. She shot a quick glance at Apollo, who looked a little bit surprised. He tried to sidestep the flames, but the flames seemed to spread around him, forming a circle keeping him from Ellie and Eduard.
          A hand brushed against Ellie's arm. Ellie turned to her side and saw Eduard at her side. His face was dark, the expression unreadable. His ocean blue eyes were fixed in a glare, and he was aiming his death stare at Apollo. For a moment, the intensity of his expression frightened Ellie ... and for a moment, Eduard looked strangely familiar, like someone she'd known back at the Outer Arc. But she couldn't quite place the face and the name. She frowned. What was going on?
          "Let's get out of here, Ellie," Eduard muttered. His voice was a low growl, and sounded strangely menacing ... and unlike him. It was as if he was being possessed by some other being.
          "Ed," she whispered. "God, I think I'm being Punk'd."
          Suddenly, the flames went out, allowing Apollo to move freely again.
          "Right," said the irritated man. "I'm starting to get very, very angry."

          Eduard suddenly felt very sick. It hadn't been a very nice day, considering the fact that it started out with a weird dream, one that got Ellie all freaked out and acting weird, and now a strange man who called Ellie 'Bianca' was attacking them. And he didn't look normal. To make things worse, something strange had happened ... his own hands had strangled him. And yet, somehow, it was the strange man who had done it.
          He massaged his throat, coughing and gasping as he drank in fresh gulps of air. He stared down at his hands for a moment, regarding them the same way one would look at an alien. That was what his hands felt like for one moment. Alien. Unknown.
          He put his hands behind him, grabbing hold of the damaged car, and pushed himself against it to balance himself. He sucked in more air, allowing himself to get stronger. When the wave of dizziness had passed, he slowly rose to his feet. Once, his knees buckled beneath him, almost forcing him to his knees. But he was persistent; he was back on his feet a few seconds later. He eyed the strange man warily, feeling a wave of anger run through him. His feelings of anger and hate were so intense, it disgusted him. He was disgusted with himself for feeling such malice toward another person, disgusted with that Apollo person ... He was so angry and full of hate and contempt, he wanted the man to burn.
          Go burn in hell, he thought disgustedly. Go to hell and just fucking burn there.
          To his surprise, the man did burn. Well, just his tie, actually. And he handled it pretty well.
          Damn it, you asshole, Eduard fumed inwardly. Go to hell, go fucking burn. Just get the hell away from Ellie and me. Just ... go ... and ... burn!
          All of a sudden, a wall of blue flame sprang up, engulfing Apollo and catching the man by surprise. Eduard felt a strange satisfaction in seeing the man try to move away from the flames. He was filled with a strange sense of power, and he liked the idea of burning the man to a crisp right there and then.
          "Let's get out of here," he muttered to Ellie. "We have to go."
          "I think I'm being Punk'd," was Ellie's response.
           Then, almost as quickly as the need to see the man burn came, all the feeling of power, the need to see fire and all the emotion seemed to ebb away, leaving him feeling weak and drained. Wasted. It was like getting a really bad hangover after a night of drinking, except worse.
          "Right," Apollo snarled. "I'm starting to get really angry."
          "Ellie-" Eduard began to say as he tugged on the sleeve of her t-shirt. He was beginning to feel really sick.
          "I don't think it's a good idea, Apollo," Ellie murmured, ignoring Eduard. "We're in the middle of daylight here. There are people watching. You're sure as hell exposing us right now."
          "That," Apollo replied, "can be easily taken care of. So, are you going to come willingly, or do I have to use brute force?"
          "Ellie-" Eduard tugged on the sleeve more urgently. He was feeling really sick now. He felt like throwing up, or something. He was dizzy, so dizzy and dazed the world seemed to spin. Everything around him began to blur ...
          And then it was dark.

Chapter Three

2010-11-29T01:45:00.000+08:00

          "Where are you going?" Eduard asked as soon as the final bell rang. Ellie didn't answer him; she merely packed her backpack and left. Eduard followed her, but he had trouble keeping up with her fast pace. He broke into a jog, weaving through the sea of students rushing home. He pushed and shoved several other students, ignoring their cries of surprise and anger. He called out to Ellie, but she didn't seem to hear him. He'd only managed to catch up with her as soon as he exited the building.
          "Hey, wait up!" he called out to her.
          Normally, he and Ellie would walk home together, as they were neighbors. But on this particular day, however, Michelle Poole had other plans. She simply walked on, her every step seeming to pulse with determination and ... rage, perhaps. Eduard didn't recognize the girl walking ahead of him, this strangely adamant girl. Ellie was usually a level headed and calm person. She weighed her options carefully before acting. This Ellie was somehow ... reckless.
          Eduard had no idea where the blond haired girl was going until they reached the parking lot. As Ellie approached a dark haired man who was loading a suitcase into a black Mercedes, Eduard realized what she was up to. He recognized the dark haired man - it was the teacher that Ellie had spied on earlier that day. The substitute teacher with those odd eyes.
          "Apollo!" Ellie snapped. She said the name the same way she said a bad word.
          The dark haired teacher looked up, and his strange two-color eyes (one blue left eye and one hazel right eye) seemed to gleam as a smile curled his lips. It was an unusual smile, one that seemed cold and unfriendly. Edward frowned, sensing something amiss. What was Ellie up to?
          "Ah, long time no see, Bianca," the man Ellie called Apollo beamed.
          "Bianca?" Eduard muttered, not meaning to say it aloud.
          Ellie jumped, and Eduard realized that she didn't notice him following her. "Ed! What are you doing here?" she hissed. "Go home!"
          Apollo's strange heterochromatic eyes flicked in Eduard's direction, scrutinizing the boy. Eduard shivered, suddenly feeling naked and unprotected. It was as if those eyes could see right into him, as if the man called Apollo had simply reached into his chest and split his heart wide open to look at what was inside. And that had unsettled Eduard.
          "I see you've been covering yourself in ... mortal filth," Apollo said as he nodded in Eduard's direction. He shifted his gaze back to Ellie, whom he called Bianca. "That's not a life for you, my dear little Lady Cloade."
          "It's your own fault I'm living in exile, Apollo," Ellie replied quietly. "You allowed Mr. Ashcroft and the Organization to overthrow the King and the other monarchs. You could've been a king yourself. You could've changed things ..."
          "Ah, but it's time to forgive and forget, you see," Apollo drawled. "It's a time to mend all mistakes."
          "Then why are you here?"
          "It's simple, really," Apollo said slowly. "I've come to take you back to the Outer Arc, Bianca."
          Eduard frowned. What was going on? Who was the dark haired man? Why was he calling Ellie a different name? What was the Outer Arc? What the heck were they talking about?
          "What's going on? What-"
          "Shush, Ed," Ellie (or was she Bianca?) interjected. To Apollo, she asked, "Why? Why now, and so suddenly? What are your motives?"
          Suddenly, the air around them was dry, so dry it was hot and hard to breathe. Eduard coughed and gasped for air as his lungs tried to figure out how to breathe dry oxygen. Beside him, Ellie tensed, as if sensing something unusual. After all, she always seemed to have a sixth sense. And strangely, the man called Apollo didn't seem to have any trouble with the atmospheric condition. He seemed fine, and relaxed, somehow oblivious to the fact that the air was as dry as desert sand.
          "Well, Bianca," he mused, "you'll find that out for yourself. Things have changed a lot since your parents and the Hunters' time. I'll arrange for your transport to the Outer Arc, and whatever costs will be settled by yours truly. We must leave as soon as possible." He shot another of his unsettling glances at Eduard. His gaze shifted to Ellie for a moment, then he stared at Eduard before continuing his train of thought. "Your dim witted friend, however, has been exposed to much of our conversation and therefore ... must die."
          Before Eduard could react, a jet of water seemed to appear out of nowhere and speed toward him. He barely had time to think. Within nanoseconds, it would reach him ...
          "Ed! Watch out!" Ellie (Bianca?) cried as she tackled him. The two of them fell onto the ground; Eduard landed on his hip and shoulder, scraping them while Ellie (or was it Bianca?) was cushioned by Eduard. Luckily, she didn't weigh much. She got up as quickly as possible, and shielded Eduard from Apollo with her own body.
          "How did you do that?" Ellie cried, amazed. "You can't conjure up water out of thin air like that! It's just not done!"
          "Wrong, my Lady Cloade," Apollo drawled. "Water is everywhere, my dear. You're just not as good as making use of it as I am. You're weak, Bianca. Life in the Inner Circle has softened your ability. If you'd stayed, you would have been able to manipulate the very water molecules in any organism's cell. Watch and learn, Bianca."
          Eduard sat up, dazed and confused. He shot a glance behind him, where the jet of water had hit a T-Bird. There was a hole in the side of the car, and water dripped from it.
          "Holy-"
          Before he could finish his sentence, he felt two hands close around his throat, strangling him. He gasped for air as he tried to pry those hands away ... and all the blood in his veins seemed to turn into ice as he realized that the hands around his throat were his own. Somehow, his hands weren't under his control anymore. He tried to make them stop, but they wouldn't. And his windpipe was burning, his lungs were on fire.
          "Let him go!" Ellie (Bianca?) shrieked. But she sounded far away, distant.
          All around him, the world blurred and faded to gray, then black ...

Chapter Two

2010-09-17T14:02:00.001+08:00

Ellie didn't get why she was freaking out. It was just a dream, for goodness' sake, and it wasn't even her dream to begin with. It had nothing to do with her life in the Outer Arc, for all she cared. It was a dream. A stupid dream. It didn't mean anything. Not to her, not to Eduard even. Ahh ... Eduard. Now she hated him for bringing up the whole thing. Couldn't he just keep his stupid dreams to himself? Why drag her into this whole thing?

Because he's your friend, Ellie told herself. He trusts you enough to want to share his secrets with you.

Sighing wearily, she stepped into her first class of the day. That would be stupid old Triginometry. Like she gave a damn about triangles.

"Ah, how nice of you to join us today, Miss Poole," a familiar voice drawled. Ellie knew that voice anywhere; time and distance did nothing to erase that familiar voice from her memory. The silken tone of voice sent shivers down her spine. Even after so long, she still couldn't forget that voice, or its owner. But what was he doing here, in this present moment? Was he looking for her?

"What are you doing here?" she hissed, suddenly feeling so cold and exposed. He had that effect on her, she supposed. Or perhaps everyone felt the same way around him. Naked, uncovered. It was as if he knew all of the secrets hidden away in her brain, that she could hide nothing from him.

"That's no way to talk to a teacher, Miss Poole, even if said teacher is just a substitute," drawled the same voice. The man the voice belonged to leaned back in his chair, running a hand along his dark hair and regarding Ellie with his cool heterochromatic eyes. Ellie shivered, her hands trembling at her sides.

          "Sit down, Miss Poole, so we can begin the day's lesson."

          Eduard didn't see Ellie until recess. He found her loitering about in the hallways while everyone else was off to the cafeteria. She snuck around like a burglar breaking into a house, and that was enough to interest Eduard - what the hell was she doing?
          "Hey, Ellie!" he called as he tapped her shoulder.
          Surprised (or rather, shocked), she whirled around and tackled Eduard, pinning him to a locker. He uttered a cry of surprise before she covered his mouth with her hand, cutting off further noises from him. Her eyes were wild as she hissed, "Shh! What the hell are you doing here?? Get to class, or - or something!"
          "It's recess," Eduard pointed out as he peeled her fingers from his lips. "What are you doing, sneaking around like a thief?"
          "I'm-" Ellie broke off abruptly as her gaze drifted to one side. She took a brief glance at Eduard, putting her finger to her lips. She warned, "Shh!"
          She walked off, in pursuit of an unfamiliar man who was walking down the hallway. Eduard noted that both parties were behaving quite suspiciously. He followed Ellie, questions blooming in his mind like wildflowers. He watched as the man disappeared behind a door. Ellie drew closer to the door, bending down to listen to something. Eduard mimicked her, ignoring the angry looks she knifed at him.
          "Don't worry," spoke a masculine voice. "I found her. No, you shouldn't be worried about me. It's your part I'm concerned about. That idiot Friday would ruin things. Yes, well, watch over him for me ..."
          It's a telephone conversation, mused Eduard.
          "Well, I told you not to worry, my dear. Yes, yes, the girl ... I know what I should do. No, I doubt that any violence would be necessary, but if it comes down to it, I will remove anyone who gets in the way ..."
          "Cool, we've stumbled upon a conspiracy of some sort," Eduard whispered as he turned to Ellie.
          To his surprise, Ellie had bolted down the hallway, running as fast as her slender legs could carry her. Eduard, ran after her, realizing how fast she could run when he lost sight of her. He sucked in a few breaths and searched for her, finding her just as she reached the girls' toilet.
          "Hey, wait!" he called after her.
          "Dead! Dead!" she cried hysterically as she went into the toilet, slamming the door behind her.
          You wouldn't want to go in there, do you? Eduard thought to himself, and muttered, "Great."
          And what the heck was up with Ellie?

Chapter One

2010-09-09T16:11:00.000+08:00

He sat up; his blue eyes open wide in fear. He was drenched in cold sweat; it soaked the dark gray henley shirt he wore and matted the fringe of his too-long dark hair to his forehead. His thin lipped mouth was open in a soundless scream. His long fingered hands trembled, curling around the sheets, and finally, as the realization that it was all a dream, he relaxed. A relieved sigh escaped his lips as he closed his eyes. His hand went up to his narrow forehead, smoothing back his unkempt hair.

It's all right, he told himself. Just a nightmare, Eduard. Now sleep.

He lay down on the bed, waiting for sleep to wrap its arms around him and pull him into a deep slumber. But as he lay there, he couldn't help but wonder if the dream had any meaning to it. After all, he'd been having the same dream over and over again.
Sleep came oh so slowly, and when he finally drifted, a similar nightmare came to him, disturbing his subconscious mind.

          Not dead.
          Even as he lay there, he was sure of that fact. He was wounded, yes, but not dead. Far from it. Well, how could he, when he could feel pain cutting into his flesh like daggers? His senses told him how far he was from death, and how vivid his surroundings felt to him! Never before had he seen the world with such clarity, felt the blood soaking his clothes drop by drop. And what was there to be happy about? Nothing, evidently.
          His blue eyes drifted in their sockets, found the two agents standing over him, their expressions unfathomable. The first agent - the one with amber colored eyes and dark hair - was staring at him intently, while his associate - the one with brown hair and had opened fire - was standing at a distance. He still had his weapon raised, as if the prisoner would attack again.
          "As you can see, Mr Hunter," drawled the first agent, "that wasn't a wise move. The Organization wouldn't want a good research subject wasted like that, but we will terminate you if we have to. And by the look of things, Mr Hunter, you are leaving us with no choice."
          Go ahead, he thought. Kill me. Would you dare to do so? I'd like to see.
          His Craft seemed to pulse within him. Every vein and artery had enchanted blood flowing through it. Could he work his Craft again? He was sure he could do it again. Forget about the drugs in his system - the magic in him could fight even that. He was stronger than that, wasn't he assured of this again and again? He was stronger than the Organization's best man; why wouldn't he go down without a fight?
          Fire flashed in his blue eyes, and in an instant, the entire cell was ablaze. Bright orange flames licked the white walls, turning them black. Flames engulfed the three men in the room as the fire alarm went off. The agents had their guns out and aimed at the man who caused it all, but what good would bullets do? He was stronger than them, even in his wounded state. And he wouldn't remain their captive for long.
          The flames swirled around him, but he felt no fear. The heat coming from them couldn't hurt him, not then. They were his flames, and no one could conquer those flames. The flames extended their arms to him; he gladly welcomed it. He wouldn't die, no. But he would escape.
          And then he was gone.

          "It means nothing," Ellie snapped. "It's just stupid, so very stupid."
          Eduard quickened his pace, trying to catch up with his friend. Michelle 'Ellie' Poole marched down the hallway quietly, refusing to listen to whatever Eduard had to say. Somehow, the mere mention of the dream had her acting strange. What was up with that? She didn't have to get all huffy on him, did she? Girls. What was up with them, anyway?
          "Are you all right?" he asked her when he finally caught up with her. "I mean ..."
          "Yes, yes," Ellie replied with a wave of her hand. "I'm fine, I could not be any better than this ... No, really ..."
          But Eduard was persistent. "You're a really bad liar, you know."
          Ellie whirled around, her gray eyes blazing. Their eyes met in a gaze so intense Eduard fell back a step. Then a slow smile curled the corners of her little pink mouth upward. She leaned closer to him and muttered quietly, "Wouldn't you like to know?"
          As she walked away, Eduard couldn't help but think, that in that moment, Ellie seemed as cold as ice. A shiver ran down his spine as he realized that he may not know his friend as well as he thought, after all. Sighing wearily, he lumbered off to his first class of the day, still thinking of the dreams he had ... and Ellie.

Prologue

2010-06-08T00:27:00.003+08:00

White.

Everything around him was that empty, blinding color. The four walls of his cell, the floor, the ceiling. Even the fluorescent lights on the ceiling were casting the ghastly color over the room. It was so bright, too bright to make out anything. He could see no doors, no windows. No way to escape. It was frightening; the feeling of being trapped like an animal. The thought of it chilled him to the bone.

The heavy handcuffs around his wrists were cutting into the warm flesh. He wondered if the cold metal would finally sever his arteries and send his cursed blood spilling out and end his miserable life. And there would finally be some color in this room. Now, wasn't that an appealing idea? He was tired, so tired of these games. His entire body ached, and he felt lethargic.

Tired of lying on his stomach with his face pressed to the cold marble and his arms secured behind his back. Why the hell did they bother with the handcuffs? He wasn't going anywhere. Not in this state. What, were they afraid he'd use his Craft? Perhaps. He was tempted to do so, but he was just too exhausted, and whatever sedative they'd shot him full of seemed to be taking effect. He was slipping in and out of consciousness, sometimes aware of the feel of the scratchy white attire he was wearing, and sometimes drifting off to oblivion. Oh, if only it was that easy.

He felt as if he might pass out. Oh, that would be good, he reckoned. After all, he wasn't going anywhere. He was trapped here, trapped like a little white lab rat. And the Organization would do whatever they wished to do with him. That was the worst part. It would've been much easier if they'd killed him. He would rather die.

Suddenly, intense pain shot up his entire body, rippling along his muscles. He bit down on his tongue to stop himself from screaming. His teeth scraped the flesh of his tongue, drawing blood, but he didn't care. Nor did he care for the source of the pain. It was obviously due to whatever cocktail they'd shot into his bloodstream. He didn't care.

He spat out the blood that was starting to fill his mouth. It tasted salty, coppery. And he watched with wonder the little drops of red liquid on the floor. There was color. He was at least happy for that. Temporarily entertained. What he hoped for next was death. Anything to save him from the hell coming to him soon, when Mr Lionel Hawthorne, the head of the Organization, decided on what to do with him. He wasn't sure what would happen, but he was sure he wouldn't be executed.

He shut his eyes, pulling in several deep breaths. The pain was starting to subside, leaving him weak and exhausted. Please, he prayed silently. Let me die. That's the only way to escape them.

The sound of something heavy being dragged along the floor caught his attention. At first, he thought he imagined the noise in his mad daze. But then there were the sounds of footsteps approaching him (Perhaps there is a door, and someone is coming into the room through it, he mused). Male voices speaking to each other. He glanced up to see two men - agents of the Organization, no doubt, but he did not recognize them - in white suits and red ties. Great, he found himself thinking sarcastically. More white.

"Ah, you're Mr Hunter, I take it?" said the first man.

So what if I am? he tried to say, but his throat felt dry, so dry he could strike a match against the walls of his throat and actually light it and set everything on fire. He opened his mouth and heard no sound coming from it. He closed it again, swallowing hard. His tongue was covered in coagulated blood, but he didn't care. All he cared about was getting the hell out of this maddening place, regardless of how he did it.

"What," he rasped, "do you want from me?"

The first man smiled. "Just to let you know a few things. First of all, on the behalf of the Organization, I'd like to thank you. You'd be a great contribution to our research here. Secondly, (you may be disheartened by the news) your son is dead. Our men have ... removed him. Can't have him start a rebellion now, can we? Finally-"

There was laughter. It was a mad, desperate sound. The sound of a man going crazy from hearing how much he'd lost, the damage done by those cruel beasts that walked in men's skins. He realized that he was the one laughing; he was the insane person who had sad tears rolling down his cheeks as he laughed.

"What have I ever done to you to deserve this?"

The first man knelt down and removed the sunglasses he'd been wearing. The agent had amber colored eyes, like Roxanne, he observed. He spared a passing thought to Roxanne, but that was it. He had other things to worry about.

"Do you know why you're here, Mr Hunter?" asked the agent, his voice cold and dangerous. "Do you know why you're in this holding cell? I'll tell you why. When perps like you are charged with manslaughter, the Organization wouldn't just stand around, waiting for the perpetrator to strike again. No. We take action on these things, Mr Hunter. Did you think you could get away with it? Five hundred dead. That's a big enough number, Mr Hunter."

"Five hundred dead," he whispered, "and you take the life of my son. Do you think that the blood of an innocent could make up for the loss?" He was on the verge of insanity; the news of his son was enough to snap him in two.

A pained scream tore its way out of his throat as he lashed out at the agent, striking out in mad rage. He forced himself up, tackling the agent as hard as he could manage. The agent fell to the floor, crying out and cursing in a foreign language.

The agent's accomplice, meanwhile, had his weapon drawn. Before he could react, several shots hit him. He wasn't sure where he was hit, for his body felt too numb to feel pain, but he could see the blood flowing, the spatters of red. Was it the end? Would he die here? But those questions didn't matter, even as his vision blurred and a wave of dizziness washed over him. Even as the darkness started to claim him, he could only think about one thing.

Blood.