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THE TASTE OF TERROR

Chapter 6: Where The Heart Is

Part I

Darkness held him.

Soft and smothering, seeping into every inch of his soul with black tendrils of pure exhaustion until he could not even try to resist the weariness, and slipped back under its cocooning embrace. Several times, he felt the blurry shreds of consciousness grasp at him, and for a moment the blackness let out a hint - red, red in the dark of the night, oh god it hurts, I don't understand, please, make it stop - but then that caressing expanse of unconsciousness pulled him under again, gentle and utterly irresistible, and he surrendered to it once more.

And eternity passed, and blindly, he felt upwards once more. Another weak attempt to escape, simply met with the same soft crushing into nothingness. But his time, the flash of remembrance was longer, stronger, managing to scream within him before it was snapped off by the dark which he nestled in.

NO! NO, NO, NO! How did - who - Little one, no... I swear, with my entire being... oh no...

That voice. It didn't matter how blind and helpless he was, how kittenlike in his lack of understanding, or how the sleek tones were no longer cool and gentle but harsh, sharp, lividly furious... he knew that voice. Oh god help him, he knew that voice.

Terror.

The emotion roiled through him, thrashing in the encompassing blackness, cringing away, not understanding the words but simply seeking a frantic, terrified respite from that hellish tones, more words springing from his own mind, words which had become as ingrained as bleeding. No, not h-him, please not him! PLEASE!

Another memory jolted, triggered by the sudden cacophony of screams, and here there was, he could perceive, a strange symmetry to their tones. Both frantic, both desperate. Both utterly infused with horror.

Don't move or I will crush every part of you, Alex. Don't you dare. Can't capture his soul - oh, Alex... - no, not at this range... and... what if... oh no. Can't capture it at all. You've got to hang on, please, and I-

This time, there was no uncertainty. The softness of nothing took him hard, rippling over every inch of his mind, and crushed it into submission. He whimpered once, choked and confused, and then it was back under with no hope of escape.

Save for one fragment, caught in the darkness as he was cocooned again, infinite soft blackness closing over his head once more.

Please. Little one, please, I... I'm begging you.

***

And slowly, timelessly, he surfaced.

Alex felt a few moments of normal sleep envelope him, a short transition from the absolute catatonia before, and then with a final caress, he blinked his eyes open at last.

The world was dim and still, surrounded by a strange black corona which seemed somehow to linger at the edge of his vision. He looked up at it for what was a few moments, or perhaps an hour, uncomprehending and exhausted. Could he even move a muscle, or did the smothering oblivion leave him with no mobility at all?

Slowly, other senses prodded their way in, and he blinked, smiling a little at the curious snapshot of blackness behind his eyelids. The surface below him was hot and silkily soft, some sort of fur so fine that he could almost mistake it for the raw unconsciousness he'd spent so long cocooned within.

And yet... it was not comforting. And the scent which reached his nostrils a moment layer, deep, musky, exotic and oddly pleasant, like some spice from a land he would never reach, was not soothing, gentle in its overwhelming aroma.

They were fear.

Terror.

Terror so intoxicating that he could not move a single muscle, his entire body suddenly and absolutely seized up as a rushing, roaring noise exploded into his ears, overwhelming even the massive, faintly rumbling breaths shaking his feathered mattress. Alex felt the most important

sense wake up at last: self-awareness. The knowledge of who he was.

My name is Alexander Joseph Williams. I am an arctic fox, twenty two years old, five foot eight inches, pure white fur and blue eyes. For the past year, my life has been nothing but pain.

Please help me. For the love of the Catalyst, someone please help me.

And more. Now he knew what... he knew who this was.

Oh god. No. PLEASE.

With a feeble squeak, the vulpine felt long disused muscles jerk in a sudden, trembling shake of fear. For a horrible moment, the dark blackness nearly enveloped him again as the unexpected movement dazed his body: a heart accustomed to slow-beating catatonia rocketing up to the speed of absolute dread.

He was lying, spread-eagled with arms and legs apart, against the great swell of Damian's chest.

"N-n..."

It was less a word and more a keening, half-wailed sob. The fox withstood the onrush of shrieking terror for perhaps one second, and then in a blur of movement, he was curled into a ball, hugging his knees, fluffy tail curled around him until he represented little more than a small, sphere-like object of pristine white fur, shaking all over. The thick black feathers around him quivered slightly, settling around this new position to hold him close in the warmth. So comforting... so terrifying. No... he whimpered frantically inside his head, not daring to speak anymore - not that he'd have been capable anyway, not with this hellish onrush of trembling. Please... please, don't...

There was no reply.

He couldn't look up. He couldn't summon the strength for that. The monster was toying with him. Any moment now, that voice of liquid darkness would whisper into his shivering ear, and the hell would begin again. He could almost hear the cruel laugh lurking behind the velvet tones.

But still there was nothing. Alex hesitated, and slowly uncurled himself, still huddled close to his murderer's chest. Now he was prostate on his front, lain over the expanse of black-sheathed warmth, with his muzzle half-buried in the silky warmth. He still couldn't raise his gaze an inch: to do so would be the final nail in his coffin. Or perhaps the final spike in his iron maiden.

Please, he found himself thinking suddenly, begging his vast tormentor. I c-can't... I can't just... I c-can't look up...

But again, nothing. Alex couldn't even sense the hot cascade of breath which might imply that those horrific eyes were staring at him. And yet to pull up the muscles in your neck, to raise that young, supple spine, and to look into his gaze... he couldn't, couldn't, couldn't do it himself.

"P-please..."

The g... say it... the gryphon's breathing was slow and steady, but at Alex's speech, a low purr rumbled along the edge of it. With a whimper, he broke off all sound, again, snuggling down into the black feathers until the soft sound had died away, every inch of his body shaking.

Still nothing. He peeked out from amidst a thick tuft, now staring at the dark neck before him. I can't...

He wants you to.

The vulpine uttered a low, choked moan, and slowly brought his head up.

No eyes gazed down at him, and were it not for the terror running ice-cold and white-hot through every vein, he might have felt some relief at that. Instead, it seemed, Alex was greeted with the dark, feathery underside of his tormentor's throat.

There seemed to be a soft exhalation of breath, but beyond that he could hear no reaction.

He blinked, and managed to raise himself, still shaking hard, onto an elbow, and looked up cautiously. The gryphon was lain out, sprawled on his back with head resting to one side, cushioned by... something red, but right now it seemed physically impossible to focus on it. Slumping back down as his weary eyes began to fill with tears yet again, Alex felt the weight of cruel inevitability settle on his shoulders like a shroud. It was true, it was real. He was here again.

He could not drag his gaze away from that massive body, the neck thicker than a tree trunk, the dark grey beak above, of which he only saw a v-shape of solid bone, running all the way to the base of the monster's skull: all too fully capable of accommodating a full-sized living being while still alive. The sheer terrifying vast power of it all... And worse. A power twisted and curled to focus all its horrific weight on him, and him alone.

Say the name. Even just inside your head. What was that expression? Speak of the devil....

The vulpine frowned in spite of his thrumming heartbeat, managing to crawl forwards a few inches, until with a yelp of alarm, he fell forwards, tumbling into the hollow between the gryphon's throat and his massive chest. He squealed in dread, suddenly upside down with back pressed against the hot curve of feathers, trying frantically to squirm free of the soft crevice. "N-no..."

Again, a moment of flawless stillness, fearing his terrified protest might anger the mountain around him. But still, Damian was silent.

With a final squeak of fear, the fox scrabbled out, not caring at what sounds he made or who was alerted, only that he escape the tight warmth. He fell out of the curve of his predator's neck and slipped straight into the thing of scarlet below.

It shifted beneath him, even softer than the gryphon's fur, but cooler, and smooth and featherless rather than silky. Strange. The surface looked like some kind of material, perhaps fine cotton, the weave impressively small. Soft and pillowy beneath his touch, the deep red, luxuriant surface, moulding around the dips made by his body and the massive black-sheathed form of the creature behind him. What... what was this?

There was a slight sound, and he felt the vibrations as Damian's colossal body shifted behind him. Overbalancing once again, Alex fell back, impacting against the massive shoulder, with the edge of a wing tickling the small of his back. This time, he dared not move, instead hunching there in a shivering, frightened ball and finally looking around.

The room - a large one, and oddly high ceilinged - was not lit, but the lines of lights around several blinds along two walls seemed to provide enough illumination for him to see that place was minimalistically empty, The walls were a rather pleasant shade of pale blue, the floor wooden and unadorned. One piece of furniture dominated their entire surroundings: the one he and his was no seated on. The vulpine blinked nervously, tensing again as the titan behind him stirred. Was it... really?

It was. A... a cushion.

An enormous cushion, bigger than a car - hell, it was about the size of a small bungalow. A seam here or there only served to accent its ludicrous, insane size.

God.... he thought slowly, turning with a terrified shiver back to the apparently comatose form of his captor. I-is... is this where he sleeps?

The idea was almost laughable, if it hadn't been for the fact that considering his current company, Alex was not at all convinced he'd ever be able to laugh again. The idea of a creature like D... like him curling up on this colossal bed-thing... perhaps after his little one had died inside him... digesting away Alex's last body into nothing while he toyed with the soul...

...no, actually, there was nothing laughable about it anyway. The vulpine swallowed, crawling on hands and knees over to the edge of his strange support - god, they were more than seven feet up, this was so maddeningly surreal - and glancing over. The floor below wasn't to-

He nearly passed out with terror in the exact moment he suddenly felt a claw around his shoulder, the scream instantly leaping to the tip of his tongue. Alex bit down on it so hard he tasted blood, but his cruel, smooth-scaled captor still held him fast, hauling him back over the expanse of softness with horrific strength before he could utter so much as a squeal.

Twisting feebly in its grip, his chest on fire with the thrumming of his heart, the fox whimpered as he felt the enfolding talon press him to Damian's chest, flexing until his sternum started to twinge oh-so-slightly. If it wanted, his entire body could be simply crushed to a gory pulp.

But again, nothing, and no reply to his terrified twirl of thoughts. So... he was asleep? Please, please, for the mystery of the Catalyst please let it be so...

Cringing in its grasp, he felt heat envelope his back again as the feathers spread over them. Clearly, conscious or not, Damian wanted to keep his little one close right now. The fox cowered away, but after a moment his confused muscles had given up the ghost once more, and with a small sob Alex slumped against his murderer's chest. He felt the claws exult at his surrender, caressing him, squeezing him closer with talons tracing endless, terrifying patterns in his fur, writing his life into its new era of pain and suffering. It would be so blissfully easily to just break down, to give into the weeping, the terror, the purity of despair... but he had to do _anything_to prevent the cascade of new terrors. Just don't dare disturb the sleep of his tormentor.

And then:

"Wrong, little one. I don't sleep."

Alex seemed to feel every vein in his body clenching tight at once, muscles frozen with a sudden payload of horror-laced ice. His vision vanished for a second as it roared through him, snipping strings and making his body simply slump against the feathered heat, unable to even articulate this level of terror. That voice. Oh, Lord Theo alive... that voice, soft as silk, smooth as liquid velvet, and deeper and darker than anything on the planet... save for one thing, the creature behind it's low tones. He would never forget it, and yet each time he suffered enough to hear it, it struck him again.

"P..." With a mountainous effort, he could shift his perception a tiny degree, spying again the dark underside of the gryphon's throat. It was still there: Damian had not turned his head to look. The fox swallowed back an avalanche of pleas, whimpers and desperate sobs, stifling himself for a moment. The silence reigned its cruel dictatorship for almost a whole minute before the great beast spoke again, and now Alex noticed a curious edge to the gryphon's silky tones. Something flat, something quiet and brooding. Something... pained.

"When I first saw you, eight years, one month, two weeks, four days, thirteen hours and forty-three minutes ago... something changed. It was like the moment I first looked into the Void. Beauty. Absolute beauty, so exquisite, so intricate... so perfect that it shook me to the core." He paused, the talons stroking along the underside of the trembling vulpine's snowy chin. "It was the most perfect moment of my existence: the revelation that such sweetness of life could exist - and more, that it could be mine. You were practically in my grasp already: there was not a single moment in that long midnight of stalking when I could not have taken you at a moment's notice. I can't tell you how I suffered during those long hours into days into years... never even a second of contact, forcing myself to only imagine how it might feel." A soft chuckle hummed through the fox's body. "But ah...that pulse of shock, that fear, that blossoming of pure perfection as those little blue eyes met my own blazing orbs of desire... oh, you were everything I'd dreamed of, and somehow so, so much more as well."

"I..." Alex trailed off. "I d-don't..."

"Hush... save that delicious voice of yours, little one. The problem is, you see, that when you and I are this emotionally intimate... it works in every way. To have you, to hold you close like this, and simply think of all the heavenly tortures I could do... it's perfection. Utter, delicious perfection. But at the same time... when my utter possession of you is threatened or so nearly torn away..."

He broke off, drawing in a colossal breath. The vulpine shivered feebly, trying to hug his tail, and Damian was silent for a long moment. Then he lowered his head at last, nuzzling tenderly at his captive's shoulder, and Alex felt his body and soul alike try to cower away. The talons merely curled a little tighter, nestling him inside as the gryphon expelled his breath in a soft sigh of satisfaction, a cascade of liquid heat that washed over Alex's fur. He opened his eyes again.

The fox... broke.

Squirming away, choking out a terrified scream which ululated almost instantly into a passionate sob, Alex twisted frantically out of his captor's clawed grip and buried himself with pure instinct into the soft darkness of the gryphon's feathers. He felt himself wriggling deeper as Damian chuckled quietly, trying to find a new level of blackness in the warm feathers, trying to extinguish the fiery horror in the dark. Those eyes. Oh Catalyst, how could he forget? The burning, blazing golden inferno of molten desire and cruelty. Staring greedily into his seared soul.

There was a slight motion in the huge body beneath him, his trembling ears picking up a faint sound of wet flesh. A swallow. And then the gryphon spoke in a whisper.

"Hello, Alex."

Alex passed out.

***

So overpowering, so intoxicating. It seems that it's only grown in the time he's been under. And now this? Exhausted from this mind-shattering fear already? Oh, my darling little fox... are you teasing me? Reminding me all the pleasures I've denied myself for so long with this ecstatic terror?

No, of course not. More likely he's just not prepared for the sudden consciousness after so long asleep, and certainly not so much emotion. I feel his perfect soul hovering on the cusp of consciousness, fitful flashes of my voice, my scent, my eyes burning through Alex in the short sleep, and let him have his hellish break from the real terror.

The desire is humming in my every vein, but again I simply hold Alex close and wait. Oh, this is so much better. The frozen waterfall has thawed, and though its raging torrent might have slowed for now... still ,his mind is in motion. Such a simple, curious term, and yet it encapsulates the most beautiful thing in all existence.

Little one...

It's as if only now can I breathe again - to some extent, literally, as during those agonising weeks I had found myself preferring not use my redundant lungs at all, finding the sound of my own "life" extremely irritating. As if until I actually felt it, I could not accept he would live, he would heal, he would still be strong. If these sweet moments, feeling the blaze thrum in my skin as I nuzzle him close, nearly daring a lick of that perfect snowy flank, are the most exquisite of my dark existence... then those weeks have been the worst. Days and nights bleeding into each other, holding him aloft from the darkness below with my own power alone, pouring stimulation into his still little body as he slept. I could not dare bring him into even faint consciousness: too dangerous.

But now... a mere two hours has passed with the two of us still huddled together, and the fox stirs again. He utters a low, whimpering keen, snuggling up against me once more, in the exact moment that his awareness wakes up this time.

The whimpering cuts short, replaced by a choked silence which is equally delicious, and I let my ears bathe in it for a moment, but I'm just so hungry for him. A claw lightly caresses the back of Alex's neck. "That was just magnificent, little one."

The fox slumps again at the sound of my voice, still buried in an adorable tangle of white fur and fear against my blackness. "N... n-n..." he mumbles, a thousand pleas, threats, begs and simple sobbing screams clamouring his perfect soul to reach his tongue. "I... I..."

"No words for it. I understand." I chuckle softly. "I rarely find words to be sufficient for you." He can take his time: time, now is what we do have, and I intend to prolong every sweet second of it in repayment for the torment of before. I simply stroke his back again, feeling the sleek muscle quiver beneath, imagining its red glisten in my elegant patterns, not the ruin of before. He needs to be washed clean of the taint of that... other.

I feel my claws flinching slightly at that, and Alex tenses, expecting another agony. "Shhh, shhh. Not yet, my darling. Not yet."

Slowly, still shuddering, he raises his head again, still lain against me in our scarlet nest. "A-and? Later, then? Y-you... you're g-going to..."

"Oh, of course." Every line in his flawless, gemlike irises is shot into blazing relief beneath my gaze, and every word I say just constricts them all the more, pulling those pupils wider and wider with terror. I feel a soft purr begin to rumble beneath my dulcet tones once more. "I always will, Alex. As long as we exist together, I will. I can never resist you. But first... well, who says we can't take our time."

Ah. Yes. Who says... who? The thought strikes us both at the same time, and as I feel my talon tightening around the lithe vulpine frame, Alex is shuffling to sit against me, still quivering, still on the verge of tears, but he holds himself just as I hold him. He hesitates for a moment, sniffling into his thick tail, and asks the question.

"What... w-what happened?"

It is all I can do to remove my talons from around the little fox before they curl into clenched fists. I shift on the great cushion beneath us, taking a second to enjoy the warmth of his small body, and...

And yet against all logic and all the iron of my self-control, I can't bring myself to reply. It's just... too bitter, too sacrilegiously rasping in my throat that silence alone reigns.

A long moment. Then Alex tries again. "It was no dream, w-wasn't it. I was... hit? By a car? Oh god, it all happened so fast..." He begins to rock himself back and forth, trembling and terrified. "I thought it was... it was you, and then I tried to get away but it was just too fast, and then..."

The silence reigns again, but still my tongue is sullen and mutinous. I look down at him with pitiless calm, and hold it.

The fox flicks his eyes up, daring to meet my gaze, and just as soon he drops them again, shivering in terror. "I-I-I... I remember that. You saved me. You pulled me up, made me jump in time... You saved my life."

The words sound odd to both of us, and the vulpine's lips twitch for a moment in a feeble, half-hearted smile. He hesitates again. Then a quiet mumble, almost a sob. "I almost w-wish you hadn't."He takes a shuddering breath. "O-oh god... I can't believe I-I'm even saying that, i just... I c-can't believe it. W-what have you done to me, that I could _possibly_say that?"

Again, I am silent. And now I know the cause, the voice-choking pinpoint focus of hatred even as little Alex is the nexus for my absolute obsession. I cannot speak because it will speed the arrival of that hideous question... but it doesn't matter. It's coming anyway - of course it is, with such a pure soul behind the words. Ask it as you would, little one. Show you care not for yourself, greatest treasure that you may be... ask about them.

Another moment, and I feel the rage welling up like some burning cloud with every breath Alex takes. His beautiful little lips part, and for a moment I think of ripping them off just to stay the question, the subject, the blazing admission of my guilt.

But no. Not him. Not when it is in anger, not simply to hide my fury. I penetrate the scaled muscle of my claws with knife-sharp talons, provoking a sharp trickle of blood which I barely feel, and let him say it.

"Oh... oh no. The driver... you left th-them unharmed, d-didn't you? Please, tell me you didn't... it was an... an accident..."

And so the storm breaks within me.

"No. It wasn't." Somehow I am avoiding his gaze. "It was anything but."

He blinks, looking at me in utter confusion. "B-but... wait, you mean... oh god, they were trying to... to kill me?"

Here it comes...

"I... I don't know."

How long has it been since that phrase has passed my beak?

The vulpine slumps back, blinking confusedly. "You... really? You don't?"

"...No."

Alex sits, looking at me with such an exquisite mixture of curiosity, puzzlement and simple fear that had this conversation been on any other subject, his next word would have been a scream. He swallows a quiet whimper, as if hearing the sour reflection within my mind, and murmurs, "But... the... you're... tele... telepathic, aren't you?" The word conjures up a nova of terror in his perfect mind, all our delicious moments of second-guessing, thought-catching, poise-perfect understanding sifting through his head, and the vulpine grimaces. "I... surely you could... well, at least you'd be able to... "see" what they were doing?"

I feel a trillion words blurring across my tongue, but none of them are the perfection Alex deserves. It doesn't... it doesn't work. And in that moment, my roiling well of inner rage finds an outlet.

Less than a second, but to the torturer of my swiftness, that may as well be an hour with the most sophisticated instruments. Before Alex can even see my movement, a claw is pinning him to the cushion below, and before he can cry out, it has twisted hard, hard, and come within an inch of splintering a choice of vulpine ribs. I just manage to haul it back in time save the fox's precious life

All this happens in so little a time that even I am unaware of my body: but now the old predatory crouch has returned. Half-knelt upon this soft blood-red cushion, tail twitching and taut behind as I snarl into his face, mouth open in a silent sob of pure gluttonous agony, and yet I will not, cannot experience it for pleasure. The bitterness is too tainting.

"NO!" It is a low snarl of utter blind rage, and even with his perfect mind nearly crushed from pain, Alex manages to cringe away, streaming eyes transfixed by me. "No, Alex, I couldn't. Do you understand? I couldn't read them." There is a moment of exhaustive anger, where I realise that I have at least managed to break my block on usable words, and then: "There was nothing there. Nothing. I couldn't see so much as a single thought in... in whatever it was that was driving. They existed, oh yes, I could feel the faint traces of a physical form, a body living, breathing, beating, mocking me with their vitality, but... no mind that I could see."

The fox opens his mouth in an adorably pathetic mumble of nothingness, trying to form words, but now the same talon which had so nearly crushed a handful of ribs like so many wet twigs presses itself lovingly to his muzzle. "Hush. The thing is, little one... this.. can't be. It's utterly impossible. I don't know whether souls exist in the Void, or are merely reflected there, but from microbes upwards, every living thing can be seen." And now, it seems a plaintive note has entered my soft growl. "It... it has to be."

A long moment of the sniffling silence, and then Alex utters a feeble moan and manages to speak. Fighting through his pain with all the beautiful strength he has. "I... I d-don't think I can help you here."

The phrase is simple, poignant, and so heartbreakingly beautiful that I feel the bitter rage melt away instantly. Still there, dwelling deep within my mind, but it is at least at peace. Sighing in a mixture of perfect satisfaction and resignation, I slump to one side on the great scarlet expanse beneath us both, chuckling softly.

"Ah, Alex. What have you done to me, hmm?"

The fox answers only with a desperate squeal of terror, rolling frantically to his side as I fall beside him. "No! NO!" It takes a moment of cowering to realise that he is relatively unharmed, and the sadist regains its ground with a soft laugh at his fear. Alex flushes slightly beneath his pelt as he uncurls, managing with a whimper to look into my amused gaze for a moment before he breaks and diverts his own, hurriedly, to a patch of his own delicious fur instead, groaning feebly into his tail, huddled on the crimson as he nurses his delicate chest, and for a moment, I am content to simply observe the fox as he tends to himself. The beauty, the quiet gentleness and utter purity of goodness, the perfect soul.

The flawless work of art I must destroy.

***

It hurt horribly, but after a few choking, coughing breaths the pain receded to a just-bearable level. Alex whimpered to himself a moment, and absently his more feral instincts took over and he found himself licking at his chest, sniffling as the small pink tongue lapped over the soreness. It was a moment before he remembered who was watching.

He started, feeling an odd embarrassment mix for a moment with the searing terror as he glanced up again to see the gryphon watching with an expression of amused interest. "I... um..."

"Don't excuse yourself, little one." The softness had fully returned to Damian's velvet tones, and Alex felt sick with dread once again. "To do so would be blasphemy, really. Act as you would act, scream and squirm and perform all your delicious intricacies of despair, and whatever they may be, I will take them joyously. However, there are, alas, times when I must force you..." he smiled thinly, and pulled his head up, gesturing at the terrible expanse of blackness Alex had so often vanished without trace into. "...please, come here."

"I'd..." the fox squirmed to a sitting position. "I'm not going to. I think... I think I'd honestly rather die."

Damian smiled pleasantly at him. "And you will, but first I'd _love_the chance for a proper talk." Without breaking eye contact, he reached out and grasped the quivering vulpine's leg, pulling Alex across the soft red surface with no effort whatsoever. The captive's mind screamed at him to struggle, writhe, squirm, do anything he could to prevent that soft embrace, but his muscles were frozen with useless terror. He felt the hot silkiness of the gryphon's neck engulf him, and slumped into it with a shuddering keen of grief.

"Ahhh..." A soft purr of gentle pleasure. "Perfection. Alive, and more beautiful than ever, and mine again." He felt his flesh crawling as the gryphon licked between his ears affectionately, a shudder of pleasure running through that titanic body, but said nothing for a moment, blinking away his tears as he glanced around again, remembering once more with the sickening certainty that every emotion and half-formed thought was preyed upon by his monstrous tormentor. "Wh-what... what were... what was it, then? You're sure they... they were alive?"

"Certain." Despite the fox's considerable trepidation at broaching such a painful subject again (painful for him, at least), Damian's voice was now perfectly civil and calm. "Life can't be imitated - at least, I was fairly certain it couldn't be. There was a body. But the mind, Alex... I just don't know. The car was found the next day, incidentally. Two thousand miles away. And burnt out, burnt to a shell. No fingerprints or DNA or fur, no registration, no way of tracing it at all."His voice was getting louder, harsher, more furious, but then the vast creature paused, sighing again. "Of course, I could maybe just have followed the driver myself..." he stroked Alex's quivering shoulder reflectively. "But I had more... pressing matters to attend to."

The vulpine swallowed, snuggling into the hot silkiness of his tormentor in the vain hope of comfort. "...Me."

"Yes." Now he could recognise the quiet, pained edge to his murderer's smooth voice. "It was... blasphemy. What that thing did to you."Alex looked up again, hugging his knees, and the gryphon was looking at him this time. The fox shrieked on instinct, shying away into the blind embrace of the pelt, but Damian merely chuckled tenderly, a bitter smile filling the moment of silence before he continued. "Precisely what defilements you suffered, I don't want to speak of, but when I landed, when I saw your perfect little frame sprawled out like that... in the night mist of scarlet..."

A strange sense of detachment seemed to have filled Alex's veins, and all he could do was listen, kneading his tail. "So you... y-you..." he took a breath, steeling himself, "you k-k-killed me again, did you? And brought me back?"

"No."

It was a response so unexpected that the fox committed the folly of looking up again, uttering a horrified squeal of panic as he met the terrifying golden gaze again. This time, before he could drop it to the softness beneath instead, a claw had locked itself around his jaw, holding him helpless in Damian's stare. The hideous, faintly manic edge had slinked its way into those dark tones once more. "I did not. How could I? Little one... can you really forget how you're going to

die?"

Alex whimpered. It seemed no further answer was needed. The gryphon's eyes studied him, searing all over his terrified muzzle. "I've explained: there is no telling when you reach the point of no return, when your soul is just so pained, so ravaged, so broken that it simply dissipates in my mental grasp. It is why each death is as cruel as it can be: it could be our last moments together for eternity. If I had let you slip away and die, and tried to hold your mind back from the void, and then it had just... fallen apart before me..." A great shudder ran through his massive body. "The mere thought stopped my heart."

It wasn't a metaphor. But Alex had more pressing concerns, as much as he wanted to just bury himself in that soft silkiness and sob until he ran out of tears. He tried to twist his skull out of the hellish grip, failed miserably, bit back an onslaught of weeping, and stuttered, "O-okay... so... y-you healed me instead?" He squirmed to a less painful position, biting his lip. "I... you mean you can just heal me whenever y-you want?" You can stop it hurting? mewled his subconscious feebly, perfectly aware of the mindless idiocy of such a statement.

"It's not that simple," replied the gryphon calmly. "How I wish it was... but matter manipulation is difficult, and more than that, it's incredibly dangerous. Your morphic projection would reject the change naturally, and unless it was properly suppressed the entire void-based memory could disintegrate... violently." He smiled, regretfully. "Again, too risky. So the... traditional way was all I could do for you."

"I'm sorry, little one. I accelerated it to as great a level as I could, took command of most of the repair process myself via telepathy, brought you back to your perfect self, but... still." A slow blossoming of horror seemed to be seeping its way into the fox's chest. "You deserved more."

"You mean..." he mumbled slowly, tasting the words, "...that I've b-been... for how long?"

Now the fire of cruelty was flaring, pulsing bright and horrific in those golden orbs. Damian nuzzled tenderly at him, ignoring the fox's choked whimper of panic. His voice came soft and whispering.

"Thirty-two days."

A moment. Then the vulpine gasped out loud, trying to squirm away, horrified and terrified, overcome and overwhelmed. "Thirty - thirty-two - oh... m-my god. Please, my friends, family, they'll think... I... please, you have to let m-"

"Hush." The slightest silkiness of a predatory growl tinged Damian's smooth tones, talon again pressed to his prey's lips. "Calm, Alex. Do you really think I'd let them think you'd decided an end? The shame of suicide?"

Alex didn't speak. The vast gryphon arched his spine lazily, curling a little closer around him. "Of course not. A month ago, you left messages with a few select people detailing how you had decided to take some time out from life, travel a bit, see the rest of the world, and try to get your life back together. You wished them all your love, and have since occasionally phoned your darling parents, voice tentative but perhaps hopeful." His tail caressed the vulpine's back. "Perhaps, you seem to be thinking, when you return you'll have a semblance of your old self."

His stomach seemed to be clenched into a little whimpering ball inside him, and his veins were suddenly cold and dreadful as ice. Alex felt a wave of tears rise behind his tongue. "You... y-you spoke... to... to my family." He felt sick. "A-as me. You imitated my... you... oh n-no..."

Damian's eyes glimmered amusedly, but he raised his claw again, halting the fox's stutters. "No, no. Alex... my voicebox contains four different sets of valves, allowing me to speak, squawk, screech, purr, roar, growl and even sing passably. It does not, however, allow me to imitate your voice. Besides..." he clicked his beak again, cocking his large ears playfully. "How could I dare to defile your beautiful tones like that? Like playing Torssen's Eleventh on a pair of old tin cans. No, I would never dream of it."

"Oh." the vulpine curled closer, trying very very hard not to think about the cool revelation that even his voice was now property to be adored as well. "I... I see... but how di-"

"Instead," his tormentor cut across coolly, "I simply manipulated a few memories to create the recollection of such a collection. A very simply mental alteration, really. Much of it can be filled in by the mind itself." He smiled.

Alex didn't.

Now the ice in his blood was colder, despite the musky furnace of his predator's body. A strange humming seemed to be worming through his ears, but it wasn't Damian's throat. The fox blinked slowly, staring up into the searing cruelty of that golden gaze.

And suddenly he was screaming, leaping at the gryphon's face to rain blow after blow onto the expanse of black feathers. The rage was so white-hot and so boiling and so unexpected that it was almost as if the gryphon was inside his mind again, puppeteering his actions... but this came from within. Alex howled out loud, reaching up in his frenzy to flail at the cursed eyes-

-his body was hit by a backhanding swipe, and smacked into the opposite wall with so much force that he hit it at almost exactly the same height. Alex's anger short-circuited in a choked groan, and he fell forwards, landing in a bruised, tangled heap of fur and exhausted emotions on the floor. He raised his head, nearly starting to cry from the aches it set off instantly, and found Damian's eyes at once. The gryphon was crouched over the apex of his vast cushion, wings slightly flared, his head cocked. But his beak was not split in a cruel smile, and his eyes were unreadable.

"Why... did you do that?" he said quietly, tail twitching predatorily behind his sleek form.

It was possibly the first time a question from him had been genuine.

Alex whimpered feebly, managing to raise himself to an elbow, and the gryphon's ears twitched gracefully. For several moments, the vulpine wasn't at all sure himself. But the unspeakable pain inside did, and somehow it had found faltering words..

"D-don't. Don't..." the fox bit back fresh tears as part after part of him set up fresh choruses of agony. His voice sounded leaden and bitter, and the words burned in his throat. "I... look. You... you're n-never letting me go. I... wish I could say that I know that. But..." slowly, achingly, Alex looked up, staring through streaming tears to the terrible flame of his murderer's own. "N-not... not them. Please. Not my family, not my friends, not anyone. Leave them. Leave them a-alone. It's me you want, it's me who's the source of this... this obsession. No-one else, you say." He gritted his teeth, screwing his eyes shut against it. "So... please... manipulate n-no-one else. I just c-can't bear it... that you... you're changing them... making them think... They shouldn't have to suffer what I suffer. Please. I... I know I have nothing to force t-this with, b-but... don't even touch their minds. they're free, okay? I... I m-might be... y--yours, but... they're free. let them be free of you. P-p-please..."

His stutters collapsed completely. and he started to cry, curling into a ball as his body twanged horribly. Please, just leave them out of this. They're from the world you plucked me from... the world of life and happiness. Don't pull them into my... into our hell.

But what was the point?

Any second now, he'd feel the softness enfold him once more. What would the price of this outburst be? More pain, more endless pain? A soft and deadly destruction of everything he'd said? Please...

And yet, Damian was silent and unmoving. It was a moment before Alex managed to pull his eyes up, blinking away the tears with a small sniffle. "I... I'm sorry..." he whispered. "I j-just..."

He trailed slowly off. Damian was not meeting his gaze. Far from it; the gryphon's head was lowered, searing eyes cast downwards with such intensity that Alex half expected the wooden floor to catch fire. His ears were folded back, beak set in a hard, angry clench. His body was completely frozen, so still that his feathers could have been sculpted in soft black stone. Not even breath stirred it.

For a moment, Alex wasn't sure if the gryphon was even aware of him. The vulpine pulled himself up to a sitting position, watching bewildered. Finally, a dark eyelid flickered. Damian spoke quietly.

"No. I'm sorry, Alex. I... I didn't consider it. I thought only of you, not anyone else, and not about what influencing your family might mean to you. I was desperate, but still... I understand now. Little one, I promise you... unless you yourself force me, intentionally, I will not meddle with the souls you love. It is you I desire and long for, no-one else, and I will try to keep us from burning anyone else in the fires of our passions." He paused again, and slowly raised his gaze, eyes on fire with something Alex could never comprehend. "I am sorry."

It was quite a long moment before either of them moved again. Alex was aware his elegant jaw was hanging open. He stared at the gryphon as Damian lowered his gaze again, returning to his burning, sullen contemplation.

You said you were sorry...

That mere thought alone seemed to break the trance. Of course Damian had sensed it. The gryphon glanced up again, a faint smile twisting his beak. "So innocent..." he murmured, seemingly to himself. "So young..."

Alex flinched at the voice, hugging his knees again on the smooth floor as his murderer growled softly, still quiet and still. It was a moment before he dared speak.

"I... don't suppose that was a change of heart?" A maniacal giggle trickled out through his lips.

Damian looked up smoothly, ears back to their graceful perk, and gave a playful smile at last, and the fox's exhausted, terrified humour melted into exhausted, terrified terror again. "Hardly. Yet again, though, you did something no-one's done before in several centuries, Alex. You surprised me."

"With what? What did I... w-was it when I... my family?"

"It was the rage." Slowly, Damian began to slink towards him, his voice soft and gentle and deadly. "The anger, the desperation, the absolute fury at the merest idea that this little world of ours, brimming with so much pain, should be one they should even be touched by." He smiled, the molten gold in his eyes gleaming again with some unidentifiable mystery. "Tell me, Alex, would you give yourself to save them from it?"

"In a heartbeat." It was awkward to see, and he felt a rush of hot blood beneath his fur as he spoke, but it was pure truth. The gryphon hissed softly, beak twisting at some private joke.

"Of course you would. That love is too strong... too pure. You feel this is yours to suffer, and yours alone." Damian hissed softly, his tail twitching behind him. "Ah, so pure. So young and beautiful and dead."

"S-stop it..." Alex felt his ears twitching feebly at the horrible last word they heard. He was already shivering uncontrollably. "You didn't s-say, though... why? Why this... this respect?"

Damian paused a moment, clicking his beak quietly. His claws seemed to flex, very, very slightly, as if clenching, and then, "Why this respect for them. Your charming family. They're not who I lust for, Alex. Not now I've found you. I did not consider that... that you considered that manipulation to be so violating. That you'd feel it was as if I was afflicting them with all that I afflict you. I don't want to devote myself to anyone but you, Alex."

Alex bit his knuckles, trying to avoid the terrible gaze... and didn't quite speak. There was something... something not quite right. Some connection, niggling at the back of his mind like a talon worming its way deeper.

"That's... that's not it." he murmured, surprised at himself. "I-is it? You're n-not... you're not telling me something. What... what is it? Really?"

There was a soft, amused growl. "What is what? I can promise you, Alex, that what I've just told you is true. Dear little fox... what's so... so wrong with the idea?" There seemed to be an almost inaudible hum to his voice, a sense of terse coolness belying the white-hot agony promised to be lurking beneath the surface. "I have you now, I have all I desire. I want to keep you safe in my clutches, and at the moment it seems that's very, very vital, but likewise, I don't want to be... unfaithful to you."

The vulpine swallowed, leaning against his captor's chest in an effort to squeeze away from a claw's wanton caress. "I... I suppose... it's just..."

"Shhh." His ears were nibbled delicately, the faintest trace of saliva left on the fluffy tips and leaving Alex's skin crawling. "Ah, little one... I wish we weren't like this. When I find our... vandal, and find them I will, I'll make sure they pay for it. For now, you're with me, you're mine, and you're in one of the safest places I can get you to."

Something still wasn't quite right, but before Alex could try and press it, he felt himself starting to cry again. "B... but..." he mumbled, feeling the sickening echo - you're with me, you're mine, you're with me, you're mine - dancing in his head. "I... just... where are we? I still c-can't believe all this..."

"Had I not said? The place I roost in, little one. I know it as my sanctum. But yes, I should have thought as much. Your beautiful mind is still so fragile, my darling... and I don't think I'm a very positive influence." Damian chuckled. "I tell you what. I'll leave you a moment to try and pick up the pieces of your shattered psyche, my darling. Besides," he tutted playfully, "you need breakfast."

"...breakfast."

His own voice was completely flat and deadpan. Alex tried it again. "B... breakfast. I... I don't..."

"Oh, yes you do." A claw rapped his nose smartly. "Alex, I've been channeling pure energy into you for the past month to keep you alive, and frankly the results aren't perfect at all. You need some actual nutrition for once. I'll just be few minutes, little one. You try and collect yourself for everything you're going to go through, hmm?"

"But-"

And Damian had vanished. The fox felt the slightest nuzzle on his unprotected shoulder, and with a rush of air, the gryphon had vanished. There was no flash of blackness, no sudden movement. He was just too fast.

And now Alex was alone. For a moment, he just sat, shell-shocked, terrified, confused beyond measure.

This was like some hideous wish fulfilment. Every second of his contact with his monstrous tormentor, he begged, pleaded, prayed for a way, a way to make it stop. And so it had. It had. He was free - only for a moment, perhaps, but wasn't that all the fox could hope to grasp on to in his hellish life?

But this time, he knew it was coming. When the.... when the gryphon returned. It would all begin again, all his suffering.

Trying to distract him from that thought, Alex stood up swiftly, wincing. He felt as weak as a cub. Muscles seemed to have atrophied only a small amount - more eldritch trickery, no doubt - but at the same time, they simply weren't used to moving. Couple that with the more recent bruises, and he was so stiff that the fox didn't so much move over to the window as slump against it. Whimpering slightly as his legs protested, Alex laboriously curled himself up against the blind, and carefully pulled himself under the heavy, pale blue cloth.

The shock of vertigo nearly knocked him out again.

After the initial choked gasp of terror, the instinctive backwards scramble, and after he'd crawled forwards on aching hands and knees to glance over the drop in a more reserved fashion, he felt his thrumming heart calm slightly. Of course. Where else would a gryphon the size of a large lorry make their roost?

A few hundred feet below, the world was waking up again, greeting it's new dawn. Alex laid on his belly, still unwilling to go closer to the glass, and peered over. He could almost hear the wind whistling around them. Down there, everyone was an ant. What would it be like to live up here? The apartment where he lived was only a few stories off the ground, where everything was personal, and before that he'd been a house dweller most of his life. Up here... able to see it all, and yet so divorced and so very apart from everything... unless you swooped down, to pluck the choicest, ripest morsel from the world of life below... and bring them up here with you, out of their life, out into your lonely, dark world.

Damian had been hiding... something. Something else. Alex knew it. And yet he knew nothing. He bit his lip, feeling it shiver with a nascent sob, and bit harder. Not now. At least not until he''s back.

After a few moments of staring down, almost transfixed by the dance of an early morning, something else became apparent to him.

"Oh. Oh... my god."

It was the Watchtower.

The irony of the name was mostly lost as the fox scrambled forward, nosing against the window, his terror forgotten in light of a new phobia. Hang on. If that was Tamsin's Avenue, then that would be Whiteway... yes, yes, there was the university science hall... and that meant...

He uttered a little whimper, and scrabbled to his feet. "Oh. You.... you c-complete m-monster..."

Slowly, now transfixed by the horror twisting inside him rather than outside in all the real world, Alex moved towards the opposite wall. The set of double doors before him was a full fifteen feet tall, as wide as a garage door. The solid wood was smooth, mostly unadorned, and, he couldn't help but notice, went rather well with the plain white walls around it. The result was intimidating in the extreme.

But he needed to see this. And besides, doors didn't hold quite as much terror when it all such terror already focussed on one individual so completely. Nervously but firmly, the vulpine took a step forwards, and pushed them.

The doors swung open like something half their size. Perfectly balanced.

Cautiously, he crept forwards. Another room, and it appeared at least that no gryphons were hiding in wait. Instead...

"Oh... god..."

Damian might not have wanted to tell him about what had happened, but Alex could tell some small amount of it. He remembered the horrific speed now, the force driving every ounce of air from his lungs... the pain. And then the monster had shut him down, taking over every part of him... or at least, what was left.

There were X-rays. At first, he wondered how in the world the gryphon had managed to get a hospital to X-ray him, and then he saw the full-body model humming away quietly in the corner, and the question died in his mind. Feeling a sort of sickened, macabre fascination, Alex passed over the neatly pinned rows of blue-on-black. Each one held another horror. Fractures, tears, splinters, crushed morasses of his own body, this was all him, this was what had happened, oh god oh catalyst help me, every one. He was only glad most were hard locate, so up-close and precise they'd been magnified to. On a small table, several piles of hefty books lay in neat stacks, the covers scratched and the pages notched: evidently pages were fiddly work for talons. The fox examined one of them.

Richard Clery: Expanded Notes on Osteopathy. Book VI: Repair Functions.

He flicked through it and lost himself after seven words. This had been written for experts in the field, by an expert in the field. Still, the gryphon's intention was, at least, clear. He'd been fixed with the knowledge of a supernatural genius

There were no notes, no thoughts of his captor anywhere. Not even any labelling, which did at least serve the purpose of allowing Alex to remain blissfully ignorant of just which bones there were broken up in glorious detail on the boards

He couldn't think about it. Too much. Too, too much. Clutching his forehead and starting to cry now, Alex stumbled across the room to another door. Again, it opened at a touch, and he slipped through.

This room was even worse.

"This..." he whispered out loud, remembering once again the revelation which set off every panic attack: _ he is listening to you through all of this._ "This is it, isn't it? Where you did.... where you did it. O-oh god..."

Bright, clean, simple. A steel-topped table sat perfectly aligned, right in the room's centre. There were no spotlights - unneeded for creatures with the vision of gods

A shelf with a selection of splints lay to one side, next to a tray bearing a set of surgical tweezers, scissors and forceps. The handles had been adapted, it seemed, for a much bigger set of hands.

Alex tried not to be sick. He very nearly failed.

Another moment passed, before the wide-eyed fox realised something was missing from the tray: there were no scalpels.

But of course.. he remembered the perfect lacerations of another death, bleeding raw agony into his body. Damian didn't need knives.

What had it been like, the operation? He leant against a wall, tears beginning to stream once more - too much, just too, too much - and imagined a dark night, and a dark creature working like a blur on his little white thing of perfection, turning him red as he tried to fix his broken toy. Had he been methodical, slow? Or had it been a furious fanatical frenzy, working without pause , every strike purely utilitarian - clean, survivable, but above all as fast as possible, so that it could all be made better?

But it had worked. The fox bit his lip, looking down at the arms hugged over his bare chest. No scars, no twinges; his fur was as unblemished and pure as it had been all his life. Any bandages and splints must have been removed once he was healed, leaving him unadorned and ready to be claimed by his murderer.

He'd been made whole again, just so Damian could shatter him again. It was what passed for life now. But this time... another. Was this really not an accident?

It was strange, thinking that there might be a threat from the rest of the world. For so long, the gryphon alone had been all the terror in Alex's soul incarnate. He looked around for a few more seconds, pulling the soft fluff of his tail up again for a hopeless comfort, and then stumbled from the room.

And another. This one was barer, and seemed more a permanent fixture than the hurried operating theatre. A great set of mirrors, fully fifteen foot from the floor to the ceiling, stood proud in one corner, tarnished gold frames - the style looked how old, exactly? A hundred years at least - totally at odds with the pure reflective grace of the mirrors themselves. He took a step towards one, locking eyes numbly with his reflection. A small creature, slender body and thick tail distinctively vulpine, even if the large ears and elegant muzzle wasn't enough. His eyes seemed crystal clear, as they stared back, the icy blue stark in the middle of his white fur. And of course, utterly dwarfed and terrified by where he found himself.

Perhaps these were here for the gryphon to... preen. Damian had never struck Alex as seeming narcissistic, but he supposed the horrific silkiness of those black feathers would have needed some attention. Come to think of it, his killer's plumage had felt a little... thicker, and fluffier, this time, the musky scent, dark and rich as spiced night, even stronger, as if the fur had been a little unkempt. He wouldn't have abandoned his little one for such a thing, after all.

He moved on, swift and nervous, and then again, passing through several rooms which were bare or contained objects defying Alex's paltry understanding of their owner. One appeared to be an alternative sleeping space, which contained, instead of a single huge cushion, what appeared to be several hundred normal-sized ones of all colours, forcing him to clamber over them before moving on. Another room was lined with what appeared to be steel blast shielding, the doors included. The fox staggered through them like a man in a dream or a nightmare, bewildered at every turn.

Until at last, the room he'd been looking for. The sudden explosion of daylight nearly blinded his weak eyes, and Alex yelped, falling forwards in a heap. The dawning sun was shining full-on right behind them, and the reflected light of the world before them flooded this room as well, high up in the city's tallest skyscraper.. And that was when he knew he was right.

Blinking past the tears of pained eyes and pained soul, the vulpine stepped forwards, pressing a hand against the glass. There it was, right at the end of the avenue running down in front of them. A pretty block of flats, architecture in the 20th Century Amalya style. White walls rose to a sleek six stories, framing a mismatch of balconies and windows which somehow gelled together into an elegant whole. And there, that small outcrop on the fourth floor, two apartments to the left from edge of the building, caught the warmth of the day perfectly.

He knew that, because he'd spent many a morning curled up in the new sunlight as the blazing orb climbed up, enjoying it soaking into his white fur. He knew that, because it was his home.

And now, he knew also that every one of those mornings, his cruel fate was right in front of him. The imposing grace of the Watchtower had often drawn his gaze, but never with any suspicion. Little knowing that from some high-up window, his murderer watched back, plotting his dark hungers...

Always. It struck him again, driving the breath from his lungs even as he made out the battered old chair he'd nestled himself in, snow or shine, to greet the day. It had always been coming, and he'd known nothing for seven beautiful years. He'd always been doomed.

A spot of wetness fell onto his elegant wrist, and Alex wiped his eyes shakily, still leant against the wall of glass. Another followed, as if it was raining inside the room.

With a heavy, broken heart and a splintered soul, Alex turned away from all which was light and warm, stepping slowly back into his monster's labyrinth.

He found himself walking, numb and silently weeping, from room to room in the silent apartment, barely registering his surroundings. Some part of him was hoping to find a hiding place to sequester himself away in and provide a few moments of small comfort, but there was nowhere to hide. The entire place was outfitted on Damian's scale, and by the looks of the high ceilings and massive doors, it had even been built in the same theme. There was no sign of any bathroom, no kitchens. One room he passed through had been covered, floor and ceiling alike, in a vast array of mathematical equations,every one written in the gryphon's perfect copperplate. A simple glance was enough to tell him that he could never hope to understand a single one oftheir impossible complexity. Another seemed to be be entirely full of threads - more than a million pale strands of silk, stretching from floor to ceiling in an eerie parade of perfect straight lines. The fox should have turned away from it, but somehow he couldn't. He stumbled onwards, whimpering openly now as a sort of midpoint towards the full blown sobs, brushing past them and leaving ripples like water in his wake. Vaguely, Alex realised he was going in circles, a spiral heading inside, near catatonic again with all the misery. Was he searching? Fleeing? Trying to hide, from his predatory stalker, or from himself?

He didn't know. He couldn't know.

Please, let me live past this nightmare.

And then the young vulpine stopped.

Another room, full of order and strangeness. Except this one was different. This one he knew for what it was.

The fox blinked, finally managing to focus his tear-ragged eyes, and felt them fill up again almost instantly. Slowly, blood screaming in his ears and bile churning in his throat, Alex took a step forward, fell to his knees, and howled out loud, feeling the waves of horror drown him. He could not stop. He could not stop looking.

A wild mishmash of styles blended into itself as the thing progressed - it was a progression, wasn't it. Of course it was. Everything was kept in perfect order, the style varying as things progress: intricate drawings in ancient inks on golden-dry parchment, small oil paintings on sturdy canvas, watercolours on beautiful watercolour paper, and finally, photographs. First black and white, grainy, then progressing, through a history of film: from sepia tones, to slightly lurid technicolour, to cleaner colour, and at last towards the most crystal clear photos he'd ever seen. The sizes varied in no order - based, somehow Alex sensed, not on merit, but simple convenience. Sizes wouldn't matter.

Neither, clearly, had gender, or species, or rank. The only constant was the young age. The purity of youth on the cusp of true adulthood, life beckoning it's enticing excitements... and then the dark feathers fell.

He stared over them, feeling like his heart had snapped clean in two. So many. Hundreds. Nearly a thousand. Each one had clearly been depicted by a master of whichever craft, their vitality singing out in every stroke of paint and gleam of light. No similarities in the positions - these had been taken of their lives, so the silent brotherhood laughed, or spoke, or danced in their frames. Each unique, each long-past suffering, each dead now forever.

Alex looked at them, not daring to try and count the multitudes. This was the legacy of his killer: a thousand lives chosen for their ripeness, frozen and stilled. No-one remembered the exuberant starling in the dress of a 14th Century entertainer, grinning with lute in hand. No names were known of that panther with purple eyes and a top hat, leaning against what might have been one of the first ever motor cars. No-one knew... except him. Damian had taken everything of them.

He would have passed out again right there and then. Nothing had ever, ever been like this, nothing at all. The despair oozed into Alex from every looking-glass smile, every imagined pain which had tainted all the pretty faces. He had thought his heart had broken when the gryphon explained his fate. Now it was shattering.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, trying to meet the unaccusing gazes. "I-I'm so sorry..."

They held no answers. Maybe Damian heard them, but Alex had nothing except pain. He staggered up, somehow terrified again. This was going to kill him if he stayed longer; too much suffering could not be compressed into his innocent young mind. He had to get out, had to, had to now, please Catalyst alive help me, help them, help, help...

Yet the door ahead did not swing on perfectly balanced hinges as before. Alex blinked in confusion, shoving harder, and got a bruised shoulder for his troubles. Over the roar of the pictures, he managed to look up at it, ears flat against his skull as tears flooded him.

This door was different as well, and this time it was clear why. The fox moved back a step, craning his neck and nearly falling over as the hammer blows of pain hit him. He could barely understand the glint on the wooden surface.

But no. Keep fighting, keep struggling for everything. Please.

A grit of his teeth, and his mind cleared a little. The vulpine realised it: the door had been barred. No, more than that. The entire thing was reinforced with steel thicker than his leg, as solid as a rock. The hinges here were the size of Alex's ribcage.

And it was locked. That was the strangest thing. A great metal ellipsoid ran across the middle, just above six foot from the ground. And on it, eight combination wheels in a row, making the thing look uncannily like Actura's biggest ever bicycle lock. Currently they were spun out of sync completely, but presumably where there was a combination lock, there was a combination.

Except what in Lord Theo's name could this... monster need locking up? From what Alex had seen, it was unlikely any other Sentient had ever entered the sanctum. It had been designed for the gryphon, very likely by the gryphon. No thief would ever have gotten close.

And yet here this was, bewildering in it's nature. Confusion hummed in the sea of horrified despair, and Alex wondered helplessly if emotions could actually kill you. He started to cry again, kneeling at the doors which defied logic, in a room which defied hope, in a strange, strange place belong to a beast who defied everything he thought he'd known about his own life. It was endless.

And yet, it was almost instant that he heard a soft click, and a softer murmur inches from his trembling ear.

"Well, my little explorer... I think it's time we returned your source of despair to its true catalyst, don't you?"

TO

BE

CONTINUED