When Wyatt stood up, he'd felt a different emotion. It was pure hatred, which swallowed him up, clouding his vision in a red, blood colored blur.

For the first time, he wanted to kill everyone.

At the moment, his first target was the bastard Royce Hunter.

Wyatt feel something change within his body and mind. It was an odd feeling, his mind sharpened and he felt a surge of power in his veins. His senses sharpened.

For the first time, Wyatt felt alive.

Reaching down, he gently pulled the blade out of his brother's chest before pointing the bloody tip at Royce.

"I'm going to kill you."

Hearing those words, Royce smiled. In a taunting voice, he sneered, "Just try."

Wyatt took a deep breath and charged, the knife in his hand held sideways, his thoughts a frantic, crazy jumble of thoughts.

Royce easily dodged the attacks Wyatt made, each attempted stab or slash blocked or sidestepped.

Wyatt growled in frustration. He could hear it; he sounded like a feral animal.

After ducking under Wyatt's attack and uppercutting him in the nose, Royce jumped backwards, making a perfect gymnast handspring and landing on his feet...in midair. The blank space below Royce seemed to solidify into an invisible platform.

Royce reached behind his back and drew his arm back out, brandishing a seven foot spear, its tip stained with dry, crusted blood.

Royce grinned in a masochist's manner. "Now, we properly duel."

Without any warning whatsoever, Royce leapt forward, off of his air platform and towards Wyatt, the spear tip pointed at his chest.

Wyatt bent backwards and did the bridge unsuspectingly, causing the joints in his spine to crack. He groaned and stood up, rubbing the sore bones. His reaction had been something out of the blue, like he had a muscle spasm. Or...

"Thane," Wyatt growled.

His conscience laughed a little bit.

"Why are you controlling me?" Wyatt asked.

Thane chuckled and abruptly stopped. "Wyatt, think about it from my perspective. Through your eyes, I saw a lunatic with a weapon just a few feet away from you, holding a spear that, if used correctly, would have turned you into little Wyatt kabobs. Yet, you stood there and gawked like an idiot, waiting for your death. That's like jumping in front of a gunman at a shooting range. I have waited for nearly two hundred years for a Host. I found one successfully after many, many years. Sixteen years in a Host is so little, you have to understand that I would like to keep you alive longer."

Wyatt felt his body bend sideways and his leg swing towards Royce, kicking him in the stomach. He felt that Royce was suffering just as much pain as he was.

"You could at least refrain from breaking my back!"

"Sorry."

Wyatt sighed and winced when Thane forced him into the splits to dodge Royce's stab.

Royce growled, "Is it the ghost making you do the work? You've never moved like this before."

Wyatt was caught off guard when Royce taunted, "I bet Chase almost died protecting you from your deadbeat father when he murdered your mother and tried to kill you."

He froze, and Royce took advantage of it, suddenly keeping forward and stabbing Wyatt in his side. The spear cut open his clothes and skin, leaving a bloody gash spilling red liquid. He cried out and stumbled sideways, tipping precariously over the edge of the altar. Royce spun around and kicked Wyatt in the side with a perfectly timed roundhouse.

Wyatt fell over the edge, his heart stopping as his fingers frantically grabbed at something, anything.

He grabbed at the edge of the cliff his fingers scraping against the edge and leaving deep, bloody cuts. His arm stretched painfully and the bones cracked. It was dislocated.

Royce walked slowly over to Wyatt, who was sweating from the pressure.

He wanted to let go, he wanted to give up.

"Don't give up living, Wyatt!" Thane yelled. "I need you!"

He cleared his thoughts, just in time to feel Royce's boot crush down on his foot.

He screamed. Royce grinned at his agony. "Let's see," he whispered, "What shall I do first? Knock you off this cliff or make you suffer first?"

Wyatt felt a bead of sweat run down his neck. He could hear Thane telling him to let go, that Thane would make sure to keep him alive.

Yet all Wyatt could do was to stare at the amused face of Royce, who was contemplating his previous question. Royce snapped his fingers. "I think I'll make you suffer first. I always enjoy a little show."

He brought the spear to Wyatt's wrist gently, running the sharp, cold tip against his skin. He dig in deeper and the point punctured Wyatt's skin. Wyatt gritted his teeth and let out a breath, which came out as a mix between a groan and a yell.

Royce continued like that, getting enough blood to cover the metal. The iron looked like copper instead, and Royce used his blood to write something on the wooden log that held up the altar.

The Sacrifice Made.

Royce lifted his boot and kicked Wyatt hand. He screamed, and then felt his hand slip...slip from the cliff edge as he fell.

The air wooshed from his lungs as he tumbled down, his fingers scrabbling for a rock, anything to keep him alive. The gravel cut into his back and skin, and Wyatt felt his left hand shatter when it ran into a large rock. He didn't even have the time to cry out when he suddenly felt weightless as the ledge stopped and he plummeted into the trees below, his ribs cracking when he hit branches of the pine trees below.

Wyatt's lungs filled with water when he crashed into the icy river below. The cold liquid washed away the blood as he struggled against the rapids, which threw him in every direction as he tumbled in every sudden turn. He didn't recall when it stopped and deposited him on the shores of where the river emptied into a lake.

The last thing Wyatt felt before he blacked out was a vise-like grip on his torn T-shirt and he looked up to to see a silver muzzle, wickedly sharp canines, and red, glowing eyes.

*****

Next day, night time...

He heard the snapping of twigs and his breathing hitched as his eyes flew open. In a flurry of panic, Wyatt tried to sit up.

The world turned upside down and Wyatt heard his skull crack as two massive paws slammed into his chest. Guttural growls were emitted from the animal's throat as he felt a breath that smelled of... burgers... and teeth around his neck.

"Heel, Shaard!" Someone yelled with a firm tone. The animal whined and slowly, reluctantly released its death grip before walking slowly to a tree and slumping down.

Wyatt sat up and found himself staring into a pair of warm brown eyes. Crimson Ryder's warm brown eyes. Her hair was swept over one shoulder, and small studs in her ears seemed to magnify her facial features.

Wyatt's heart leapt into his throat when he took a clear look at her pet. It looked like a wolf, but this one was huge and heavyset, not what he'd seen at the zoo in a third grade field trip. He scooted backwards. "What is that thing?"

Crimson growled, "That thing, as you call it, is a dire wolf. Say hello, Shaard."

Her wolf glowered at him, studying Wyatt as if wondering what type of sauce would go well with barbecued Wyatt.

Wyatt laughed nervously and continued to move backwards. "Aren't dire wolves extinct?"

"Almost extinct," Crimson corrected, "Shaard here is the last."

"How did you manage to-"

"Get a dire wolf as a pet? Long story, including a McDonald's ketchup making factory and some nylon backpacks. Don't ask." Crimson stood up, brushing the dirt off her jeans. "Think you can walk?"

Wyatt gripped the rough bark of the tree next to him and staggered up. His legs wobbled as he shakily walked to Crimson, who smirked and helped him up after he tripped and nearly fell on his face. "If you need help I can do that, you know. I'm not weak." He shook his head and tripped forward.

As Wyatt was about to leave the woods, Crimson's hesitant voice made him pause. "Wyatt..."

He removed the branch in his face before she could warn him. His eyes widened in horror.

Apparently, when he'd been out cold, Royce had committed genocide. The land as far as he could see was empty. Small fires were burning, and nearly every building was destroyed with bits of glass and shrapnel everywhere, scattered like spilled flour on a kitchen floor. The only colors Wyatt could see seemed to be only gray and red. Bodies littered the floor and blood painted the walls and floors of the ruins.

"What happened?" Wyatt whispered, "What happened to the humans?"

"While you were in lala land, Royce caused the apocalypse. Of course he killed humans. They were weak. In our new society, we don't need the weak, just those with magic."

"Wait... our?"

Crimson grinned. She no longer looked like an innocent teen anymore. Wyatt saw bloodlust in her cold brown eyes.

"You think I'd ditch Royce for someone as half-assed and pathetic as you? I was just sent here to make sure you were dead. Guess I'll have to kill you."

Wyatt found himself staring into the eyes of Shaard. The wolf's threatening look kept him frozen in place as Crimson called out in a harmonious voice, "Dagger? You can come out now."

Wyatt watched in horror as Dagger emerged from the last of the living bushes, his hand cradling a knife as if the blade was the key to his life. Maybe it was.

He was somewhat relieved and annoyed to see Dagger again. If he knew Dagger well enough, Dagger would've long taken his side and fought Crimson. What happened?

Crimson grinned and pointed at Wyatt. "Dagger, kill him."

Wyatt was stunned when the boy promptly obeyed, running forward like an Olympic runner before tackling him down and grabbing his throat. Wyatt hit his head on the roots of a dead tree and his vision blurred. He choked out, "Dagger? What happened? I'm Wyatt, remember?"

For a tiny, hopeful moment, Dagger faltered. His grip loosened on Wyatt's neck for a fraction of a second. Someone seemed to snap him back to reality and Dagger's face hardened as his choke tightened again.

"I don't know anyone named Wyatt. The only Wyatt that I have heard of is you. And I'm going to kill you."

Wyatt brought his free hand up and punched Dagger in the face. The boy looked shocked as he fell back, blood spurting out from his nose and a dark spot forming under his left eye.

Wyatt took that time to stand up and run away. He didn't care where to go at the moment, just a place so Crimson and her amnesiac slave couldn't find hm.

Wyatt had run about a quarter of a mile when he suddenly felt two massive paws slam into his back. He fell face first into the dirt, the bandage on his cheek turning black with the ground.

The wolf snarled, its burger breath hot on his face. Wyatt vowed never to eat cows again. His growls matched the feral animal's when he managed to shove Shaard out of the way. The wolf whimpered and cowered as soon as Wyatt fought it off and quickly scampered away.

Wyatt breathed in relief as he wiped the grime off his face. He was about to walk off like nothing had happened when he stopped suddenly.

Cool moment ruined.

Crimson Ryder stood ten feet away, her lips curled up in the hint of a cruel smirk. "Game over, Wyatt."

He heard twigs snap and felt the cold, thin point of a needle on his neck.

"Now, Wyatt," Dagger's cold voice was in his ear, "The needle at your neck is filled with a deadly poison called...uh...dimethyl...something or the other. It'll kill you even with as much as a tiny drop."

Wyatt felt that he should've been more intimidated. Dagger's word stumble had made it less scary.

Wyatt forced out a laugh. "It's harmful and yet you can't pronounce the word?"

Dagger growled. The point of the needle threateningly dug into his skin more.

Crimson groaned in boredom. "Hurry up, Belmont, I'd like to be done with this mission before I'm eighty!" she snapped.

Wyatt almost grinned at Dagger's sigh in annoyance. Yet the knowledge that this boy, who'd once been a friend, was going to kill him, kept his mouth shut.

"Crimson?" Dagger asked, "May I do the killing alone?"

What? Why would Dagger want to do that? Wyatt mused the question in his head.

She crossed her arms and grudgingly agreed, running away with Shaard.

Why would Crimson agree to anything her slave said?

"Sorry, Wyatt," Dagger murmured, "But I guess I get to kill you now."

Wyatt took the last risky grab, tilting his head back and knocking Dagger back. He wouldn't die. He was going to escape this psycho and live to tell the story. The boy stumbled back, his hand around his nose.

"My god, stop trying to break my nose!"

Dagger's eyes reflected off the moonlight, holding years' worth of anger. He charged at Wyatt once more and didn't hesitate as he stabbed the needle into Wyatt's neck.

Wyatt winced when the needle pierced his neck. He immediately fell to his knees. Black spots began to take over Wyatt's vision. He coughed, holding his hand up to his mouth. Was that blood...or was that ink on his hand?

Wyatt fell to his knees, his arms no longer strong enough to hold him up anymore. More... ink came out of his mouth as he coughed.

With the last of his energy, Wyatt screamed. They faded quickly as his breathing slowed.

Everything went black.

*****

Cassie Blaze

She stood at the cliff where Wyatt had been knocked off earlier. The wind tugged at her short hair, bringing in the smell of dead pine trees.

Cassie shut her eyes, blinking back tears when she heard dying screams from the forest below. A moment later, Crimson and Royce teleported back.

She found herself asking, "Where's Greyson?"

"It's Dagger, my dear Cassidy," Royce corrected. "He wanted to kill Wyatt alone, so we decided to grant his wish."

"Oh."

Royce smiled at her, the rarely seen "good mood" smile he wore when things were going according to his plan perfectly.

Royce walked the altar and raised his arms. He drew a knife over his hand and used the blood to write a series of misshapen letters and symbols. Cassie knew what they said.

Come, my followers.

Almost like magic, an army spawned on the altar. The majority were guards, but there were a few noticeable ones among the group.

Kiara Lyre. Crimson Ryder. Two half sisters, one a bomb lover, the other a ninja. They went by the name of Sophie Richardson and Amanda Farrah.

In front of them all was Mike Best. He had blonde hair, hazel eyes, a snappy mouth, and a lightning scar on his cheek. He was the world's most murderous, stereotypical Harry Potter.

They all approached Royce with pride, and Mike stated, "We did it. We killed them all. Not one soul survivor."

Royce chuckled darkly, responding, "That's good, Mike. I'd hate to see your dead body if you failed me."

Mike blanched, stuttering, "O...of course, sir."

"Hmm." Royce motioned with his hand for them to follow. As he passed Cassie, she felt his cold hands pass her a vial of clear liquid.

Royce quietly explained, "The antidote. I still need Chase alive." Then he was gone, the door to his quarters ominously clanging shut.

Cassie walked over to Chase, who's body showed no signs of life, and pulled out the stopper, slowly tipping the clear liquid inside Chase's green mouth.

He coughed and retched, the poison immediately clearing away as soon as the antidote reached his system. Chase's eyes opened, but they seemed dull. Instead of the bright blue glimmer Cassie was used to seeing, his eye color resembled more of dirt, if anything.

He slowly sat up, sighing in sorrow. "Well, Cassie? Shall we go? We have work to do." Chase promptly stood up, beginning to walk away, resembling a zombie. Cassie found that comparison horrifying.

In that moment, she noticed his eyes dart to the edge of the cliff, as if he was hoping someone would climb back up.

Cassie cleared her throat awkwardly. "Chase, I'm really sorry about Wyatt and I..."

"Just forget it, Cassie," Chase bitterly mumbled, "Please, Cassie."

Cassie kept her mouth shut and glared angrily at the altar. Her eyes brimmed with tears.

She'd never realized.

Wyatt, with his blue hair, bright smile, ridiculously annoying attitude, and kindness, had been the glue of holding them together. He was their source of hope, their source of faith.

Now that he was gone, everything was replaced by despair.

Forever despair.