"All happy families are the same; each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way." - Leo Tolstoy, Anna Karenina

More often than not, when he was in one of his moods, Kazuhiko Tommi would blame his mother for all the ways in which his life had gone wrong. It was an easy thing to do; when a person was the voice in their head that brought them anxiety; that told them they were worthless and stupid and a complete and utter disappointment, no matter whether that person was one's mother or not, there is only one possible thing they can be: their problem. It is far, far easier to blame his unhappiness on a presence that had never once wavered than one who was little more than a memory.

It was only in his darkest of thoughts that Kazuhiko thought that, perhaps, his father was the one to blame after all.

Daisuke Tommi was a shrewd and powerful businessman who had bought his way to the president's ear. He had no respect for rules or conventions, only for results and furthering his interests; he was the type of man who, without a fail, made history. But, none of that had ever bothered his son, who, in fact, longed to resemble his father - though, as his mother had often told her, his heart was merely too soft for it. What had always bothered him, however, was that the man was absent.

In many ways, Kazuhiko's father had been like a flame to him; the thought of him brought warmth to his memory, though the man had never been anything but cold towards him. But passion burned hotter than kindness, and he had never been lacking in that department. Much as a flame, as well, Kazuhiko had always found that, if he got too close to the man he called his father, he would end up burnt - and badly. But, nonetheless, he returned each time: for the most blessed of blades are forged in the Inferno.

For a few years, after he had lost his grace, but before he had truly fallen into his books, all he had had was his father's flame. The only thing that brought him life was the burning cruelty of a man he might as well have never known, and the only thing that brought him death was the knowledge that he could never sing such a lullaby for a son of his own; for, by then, he had known that, try as he may, he would never be his father. He lived and died every day, solely for the sun that his mind had conjured; for the ball of flame and glory that lit the night sky ablaze each day, without ever so much as an instance's failure.

I demand my due...

The voice returned to him, and, finally, he recognized the scorching tones that the Devil himself had used. If he closed his eyes and moved towards the past, he could see the eyes of his father, near midnight in their darkness and yet filled with passion, as though the night sky were ablaze. I demand my due... and Kazuhiko wanted no more than to please him; to bring him whatever it was his heart desired; to serve his every whim.

It will have blood. They say blood must have blood.

He remembered when he had first thought the words, how he had thought that the blood it wanted was his; that his actions meant he had to die. The flames had seized him, then, and brought him back to life; he had been blessed by the Devil, or by the Angel of a paradise lost, and he had learned his lesson. Evil cannot be wiped out, he now knew. I can die, but my actions would never be erased. The best thing I can do is to give them company.

The best thing I can do is to please Him who saved me.

His steps guided him further into the jungle, towards a shining he could not see - but he felt it. Like a flame, he felt it come closer, singing his flesh and yet there was no red to be found, no pain to be felt. His senses were alight and he followed the trail like a hound might towards its prey. Blood - his blood - dripped from his knife, leading him into the darkness. The scent was close. It was a matter of moments until he would reach it.

And then it jumped before him - or rather, he did. David Goethe. His eyes were as catlike and taunting as they had been when they first met, and yet there was something new to his look now. Malevolence. When the two had first spoken, though he had been scared, Kazuhiko had not felt threatened. Now, however, the man seemed to be nothing but danger. Just a look at him had Kazuhiko's most primal of instincts on edges, trying to choose a course of action. Fight or flight?

He is under control by magic darker than what you possessed, said the voice. Kazuhiko liked knowing that it spoke to him and him alone, whispering into his ear with a voice that did not truly exist; it was a secret that only the two of them shared, and that nobody could ever take away from them. He will not stop until he kills you.

"Is there no way to destroy the artifact?"

David's head snapped towards him in a heartbeat, an icy stare in his frozen eyes. "You should not have asked such a foolish question, Mr. Tommi. I expected you to be smarter than that."

Suddenly a snout burst from Goethe's face, and blood dripped down from his fangs. He was a creature less horrible than the one Kazuhiko served, but far more so than he was. His wand pointed towards the beast, shaking in his hands, as Goethe snarled at him, teeth bared. The voice returned to him yet again, bringing with it the comfort to resist the chills coming his way.

Have no fear, my boy, it said. I am here for you, and I will give you the power necessary to kill this monster.

To kill it? He wanted to ask, but there was no point in such a question. If He advised him - for He would never do something as horrid and cold as to command him; the Devil cared little for obligation and prohibition - to do such a thing, then He was surely doing it for Kazuhiko's own good. There was no selfishness in the One he served; only a desire for every person to live according to their own morals, free of the concepts of right and wrong that had been so unfairly forced onto them. Hell is warm, after all, and Heaven is cold; and Kazuhiko had always preferred the flames to the snow.

The beast that had once resembled David Goethe leaped towards him, and Kazuhiko ducked. The knife in his hand scratched at his arm as he brought his hands in towards his chest, and blood began to fall, drop by drop, as would rain in the midst of a storm. Kazuhiko was the lightning, Goethe the thunder; they struck through the night air, their screams and shouts as rumbles and echoes.

But, as nature dictated, it was always lightning that struck.

When the wolf next leaped at him, Kazuhiko hit the ground, thrusting his knife up into the monster's stomach. As it opened, blood and guts showered him, who pushed the carcass off his body, now drenched in red. Blood stuck to him - to his clothes, to his scent, to his mind - but he did not mind. In fact, he was proud of it. He liked it.

It was then that the beast changed its shape. Its snout retreated, showing Goethe's stern, harsh features. Its brown fur retreated until it was once more nothing but hair. Its teeth and claws disappeared. He was human.

But Kazuhiko was not. He saw the nose first, growing further past his eyes; then came his hair, midnight black and sleek, covering his body; finally, the taste of blood filled his mouths and hit his canines, and he could feel the earth shift under his claws. David Goethe had not been the wolf - he was. Kazuhiko Tommi had been the monster all along.

He looked down to the corpse on the ground, facing the man who had so reminded him of his own father. He could see flames erupting from his body, and, from the heat, he felt more alive than ever. The feeling of glee he had not had since his childhood returned to him; first bit by bit, then all at once, much in the way one might catch ablaze. The fire licked at his paws, comforting him with each caress. It would have worked, perhaps, if not for the fact that the loss of his humanity had been exactly what Kazuhiko had needed to truly regain it.

What happened? How did I get to this?

But he knew the answer: the burning around him could tell him that without so much as a moment's hesitation.

He had stayed too long in the flames; no longer was he a blade being crafted. He had been ravaged by the Inferno.